


Write It on the Sky

by cave_leporem



Series: walking like a man (hitting like a hammer) [1]
Category: Motorcycling RPF
Genre: F/M, Pining!Marc, Rule 63, What are you doing here?, Why hallo Angst, always-a-girl Dani Pedrosa, and it is a ridiculously happy ending, i'm (not) sorry, making dentists around the world ridiculously rich people, there is a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-09 23:13:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 24,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2001699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cave_leporem/pseuds/cave_leporem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“She’s like the drop-dead sexy babysitter I might have had as a teenager- you know the one that’s genuinely nice and caring but keeps up the slightest bit of professional distance between you? The one who, years later, you meet at a job where you’re on equal footing and you think Christ, she’s still so pretty and you’re no longer a kid but she keeps that distance because she won’t see you as anything else?”</p>
<p>Alex eyes his brother warily. “You need help, Marc.”</p>
<p>“I know!” The immediate response tells Alex that Marc’s sort of missed his point. “I’ve won the World Championship and she still sees me as a kid! What can I do?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "I had a revelation."

**Author's Note:**

> So I've got a massive rule 63 kink. This was completely spawned by the babysitter line, for the record. Not sure where we're going with it, but it probably won't be overly long.
> 
> This is a work of fiction. No offence is meant to any of the people involved.
> 
> Enjoi.

Alex is the one who buys the drinks, because between him and his older brother, he is less likely to get ID’d by the barman.

“So what is this emergency about?” he asks, putting the beers down on the sticky surface. Marc doesn’t answer until he’s taken a long slug from a bottle.

“I had a revelation.”

When no more is forthcoming, Alex raises his eyebrows. “…And?”

Bottle and head meet bar top with a dull thud. Marc mutters something into the wood that Alex can’t make out, so he hits his brother lightly on the back of the head. “Oi, get up. I can’t hear you down there.”

Marc straightens up, and looks so miserable that Alex gets worried, beyond the ‘What’s Marc being a drama queen about now?’ question that convinced him to go drinking with his brother tonight.

“Daniela Pedrosa.” Marc says the name with equal parts reverence and despair.

Alex shakes his head slightly. “What about her?” He hadn’t heard any problems between his brother and Honda team mate on the grapevine.

“I've finally worked it out.” Marc fidgets with the bottle in his hands and refuses to meet his brother’s eyes. Just in case they know more than they should at this point. “She’s like the drop-dead sexy babysitter I might have had as a teenager- you know the one that’s genuinely nice and caring but keeps up the slightest bit of professional distance between you? The one who, years later, you meet at a job where you’re on equal footing and you think Christ, she’s still so pretty and you’re no longer a kid but she keeps that distance because she won’t see you as anything else?”

Alex eyes his brother warily. “You need help, Marc.”

“I know!” The immediate response tells Alex that Marc’s sort of missed his point. “I’ve won the World Championship and she still sees me as a kid! What can I _do_?”

“I didn’t even know you still had a crush on her,” Alex muses aloud. When Marc glares at him, Alex can’t help but laugh. “Come on, you aren’t the only Marquez who had a poster of her racing on their bedroom wall. I grew out of it a couple of years ago, though.”

Marc hangs his head in his hands. “I didn’t.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

“Then they made me her team mate.”

“I remember. You were over the moon.”

“Still am, really.”

“Yeah, the constant smiling kind of gives that away.”

“Shit, do you think _she_ knows?”

“You _are_ slightly obvious-”

“Dani doesn’t have a clue.”

The brothers jump when an unexpected voice enters the conversation. Unnoticed by either of them, Jorge Lorenzo has joined them at the bar. The two extra beers with him cements his place, so they drop the guilty looks at being caught gossiping about another rider and welcome him into the circle.

“What do you mean, she doesn’t have a clue?” Marc is both desperate and pleading.

Jorge smirks. “What, you think Pedrosa-fascination was exclusive to the Marquez household? She’s denser than a neutron star when it comes to this sort of thing.”

Marc slumps on his stool.

“What you need to do,” Jorge says encouragingly, and Alex would like the advice giving if it weren’t for the devilish glint in the Majorcan’s eyes, “Is be completely honest with her. Make it _so_ completely obvious a blind bat couldn’t ignore it.”

Marc perks up, and Alex feels a hint of trepidation.

“Write it on the sky, that sort of thing?” Marc wonders, and Alex feels like putting his head in his hands because he does not need to know how much of an incurable romantic his older brother is.

But Jorge’s shaking his head, “Nah, Dani’s never had her head in the clouds,” He drums his fingers on the bar. “You need something closer to Earth, I think.”

Marc shoots bolt upright on his stool. “I’ve got it!” He slogs down the rest of his beer, then he’s up and running. “I need to talk to-” the rest of the sentence is cut off as he runs out of earshot.

Alex frowns at Jorge now his brother is absent, wondering how, as the _younger_ brother, he gets put in this position so often. “Do you know what you just did?”

Jorge takes a triumphant sip of his beer. “Hopefully, I just unleashed weeks of torment upon Daniela Pedrosa.”

Now he’s confused. “I thought you said you liked her?”

“I like to rattle her cage, and she does the same to me,” Jorge says cheerily. “If she finds out what part I played in this, she’ll know _exactly_ what it’s in revenge for.”

Now Alex is _very_ interested, but something tells him he’s not going to hear that story any time soon. “I should be annoyed you’re using my brother like a chess piece,” he says, as though this is just occurring to him.

“But you’re not,” Jorge snorts, “Because you know as well as I do that this has the potential to be the funniest thing that’s happened on the grid in _years_.”

Alex smiles, because like Marc himself said, Dani is _nice_ , and he can’t see her hurting his brother, even if she rejects him. Then something between the lines hits him like a truck to the head.

He turns to Jorge, eyes very wide. “Did you- did you and Dani ever..?”

Jorge raises his eyebrows.

“It’s just- you seemed to be talking from experience, and with the friendly rivalry thing now…”

Jorge puts his hand on Alex’s shoulder, and leans in close. “A gentleman never kisses and tells,” he whispers.

“But you’re not a gentleman,” Alex points out, no offence meant with the simple truth.

“Besides which, she’d kill me if the news ever got out,” Jorge casually adds, no offence taken.

“Sweet Jesus,” Alex mutters. He might not have a crush on her anymore, but the image in his head now-

Jorge waggles his eyebrows, and finishes his beer. “I know, right?”


	2. "Fail. Absolulte fail."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marc tries, he really does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is quickly becoming crack.

Dani stares at the muffin lying innocently on her data sheets. It’s blueberry, her favourite, which makes her suspicious.

She pulls out her phone and rattles off a quick test.

_Is it poisoned?_

She gets an answer not five minutes later. _A mild hallucinogenic. You might even think you’re winning, for once._

_How did you get it past the team?_

_And reveal all my secrets?_

Before she can reply, she gets another text from the same sender. _Is what poisoned, by the way?_

She deletes her draft and doesn’t bother answering. Not Jorge, then. He wouldn’t deny credit for any prank he actually set up.

Beyond that- she has no suspects. So she picks the muffin up and examines it more closely. It smells like it should, looks like any other ordinary muffin should. She pokes it, and the sponge springs back like any typical cake pulled off the shelf in a supermarket.

Through the open garage door, she hears the wind pick up, and is left cursing as her papers are scattered all over the table and floor. She scrambles and manages to rescue most of them, but some are whisked outside and by the time Dani gets back to her feet, are long gone.

This is (of course) how her team mate finds her- papers clenched in one hand, crumpled and all out of order, while she glares at the cake she’s still holding in her other hand.

The muffin is, of course, responsible. Not even blueberries can save it from the bin, where she plans to dump it.

Marc takes in the scene in a glance and thinks things have not gone exactly to plan. “What happened?”

Dani narrows her eyes once more at the cake, then huffs. “Somebody left this here. I think it’s a plot.”

“Do you know who?” Marc asks, pretending he has _no idea_ what is going on. The plan was not to make her angry.

“No.”

Unable to help himself, he prods further. “No note?” She _missed_ his note?

“Nothing,” Dani snaps out. She lifts the papers slightly. “It was covering these. I suppose I should be grateful, or more of them would be missing before I even got here.” She shakes her head slightly. “Sorry, Marc. I’ve got to grab the mechanics and work out what sheets need to be reprinted. Do you like blueberries?” She doesn’t wait for a reply, and shoves the cake into Marc’s hands. “I wasn’t going to risk it, but have it if you like.”

She stalks out of the garage, riffling through the papers and putting them into a semblance of order.

Marc stares down at the cake he’s now holding (again). “So, plan A,” he mutters-

-*-                                            

-“Fail. Absolute fail.”

Alex laughed at Marc’s pain. “She didn’t even get the note?”

“Right now, I’m hoping one of the mechanics hasn’t found it,” Marc muttered. He had told his brother expecting sympathy, and instead got more laughter as Alex broke down again.

“Maybe you’re still being too subtle?”

“Because a handwritten note asking Dani Pedrosa on a date, topped off with her favourite cake, is _too_ subtle?”

Alex shrugged. “Apparently.”

Marc elbows his brother in the side, but well. When he’s right, he’s right. It _didn’t_ work.

“Hey!” Alex furrowed his brow, wondering something. “How do you know what her favourite cake is, anyway?”

He really hoped his brother wasn’t turning into a stalker.

Marc mumbled something under his breath. Alex went white. “You _what_?”

“I rang her parents,” Marc admitted, a bit louder. “Asked them for their blessing, and what her favourite kind of cake was.”

Alex _really_ hoped that insanity wasn’t a genetic flaw. “What did they say?”

“Blueberry,” Marc shrugged guilelessly. “Then her mother added that if I could convince Dani to stop racing and start thinking about a serious woman’s career, I would be forever welcome at her table.”

The younger brother grinned. “So your future mother-in-law isn’t going to be particularly fond of you, is she?”

“No, probably-” Marc realised what Alex had said a little too late. “Hey! Bit early for that, don’t you think?”

“You _asked for their blessing_ ,” Alex repeated. “I thought this was just a crush.”

He thought Marc wouldn’t be hurt when Dani (inevitably, surely?) said no. A bit bummed for a couple of days, but nothing serious. The final chapter in a ridiculous story.

“It is!” Marc insisted, then more subdued, added, “Mostly. A crush, and a bit more. An obsession? Er.” He blushed furiously under his brother’s incredulous gaze.

“You’re _pining_ ,” Alex concluded, slightly awed. “You are actually pining for this woman.”

“You make me sound pathetic,” Marc grumbled.

Alex shrugged again. “I’m really not doing much.”

-*-

Plan B, Marc thought, had to be in person. Clearly anything else left too much up to chance. He carefully balanced the cup holder in one hand, and knocked on the door with his other.

Then he stood there for thirty seconds, wondering if Dani was alright, because she was normally much prompter in answering.

“Just a minute!” Rang out from behind the metal, and Marc relaxed again. Dani pulled the door open, half-braided hair secure in her other hand and an elastic band in her mouth.

“Marc!” Dani quickly finished her braid and snapped the elastic on. “What are you doing here?”

Marc had never seen even part of her hair loose before, and took a moment to re-focus. He hadn’t realised it was so _long_.

“I- the press conference,” he explained hastily. “I thought we might as well walk over together. Coffee?” He held up the cups in an attempt to divert her attention.

Dani _lunged_ for the drink. “You’re a lifesaver,” she said. “I overslept; I haven’t had anything this morning.” She took a gulp, seemingly impervious to the scald. “ _Thank_ you.”

“No problem,” Marc managed. Dani looked different in the mornings. Less put together, less _distant_ with her expressions.

She straightened her clothing, and Marc mourned the loss of the casual, slightly rumpled sight. “Ready to go, then?” He asked, injecting cheeriness into his voice.

“Just let me-” Dani ducked back inside, showcasing the long line of her back, braid falling just below her shoulder blades.

Marc swallowed.                                                                 

“Got it!” Dani reappeared, phone in hand. “Let’s go- are you alright?”

He nodded quickly, casting his mind for a suitable excuse. “Yeah, just- mornings.”

Mornings. _Mornings._

“Hate ‘em, myself.” Dani smiled sweetly. “So thank you again for this.” She took another sip from the coffee. “Can’t bear them without it.”

“You’re welcome.”

They set off, chatting idly about the new parts they were expected to run for the race.

“I prefer the old forks, myself,” Dani was saying. “I didn’t have to guess when the bike would give up and pitch me off.”

She was using her hands a lot, Marc saw, gesturing and drinking.

Catching Dani in the morning, before she put on her carefully constructed persona like most girls put on make-up, was the best plan he’d ever made. It gave him the courage to speak up.

“So I was wondering-”           

“Light of my life!” Jorge wedged himself between the team mates and slung his arms over their shoulders. His grin was for Dani, but Marc was sure only he saw the Majorcan’s wink.

Dani applied her elbows to the intrusion, and Jorge backed off quickly. “It’s far too early to put up with you,” she growled.

“You say that like my presence is a chore.” Jorge pouted better than any self-respecting man should be able to.

“I’ve only had one cup of coffee,” Dani warned him. “Tread softly.”

“For you tread on my dreams, Dani!” She ducked as he went to hug her again. “And I was so happy to see you.” He looked between them, and smirked. “So what was that text about, anyway?”

“What text?”                                                       

“ _Is it poisoned_?” Jorge quoted. “I’m appalled that you think me capable of such a thing!”

“The cake,” Dani muttered when she saw Marc’s confusion. “I thought Jorge had something to do with it.”

The coffee Marc was drinking decided his lungs were a much more attractive destination than his stomach. He spluttered, but could at least blame his white face on oxygen deprivation.

“Well if it wasn’t me- and I wouldn’t treat an innocent cake so harshly- who was it?” Marc hoped Dani didn’t noticed how Jorge’s eyes shifted to him for fractions of a second.

Dani rolled her eyes. “Search me,” she said. “Maybe one of my crew left it there by mistake.”

“Or maybe it was left for you,” Jorge needled her. “Maybe you have a secret admirer, Dani.”

Marc’s face had barely returned to its original hue before going a deep red.

“I’m not that unapproachable!” She said indignantly.

_Denser than a neutron star_. Marc’s beginning to see Jorge’s point.

Jorge sighed. “You have no romance in your soul.”

“I’m not looking for romance,” Dani grumbled. “I’m looking for the exit to this conversation. Is that the door?” She waved as Livio Suppo came into sight and made a beeline for the manager. “See you in there, Marc,” she tossed over her shoulder.

“Wait-” Marc tried, but Dani was already gone, and he was stuck with the Majorcan.

“Was I interrupting something?” Jorge asked slyly.

“You bastard,” Marc said, an answer in and of itself, and followed his team mate.

-*-

Plan B: fail. Absolute, _epic_ fail.


	3. Watch and Learn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marc takes a step back. (With outside help) Dani takes a step forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marc isn't the only one turning into a stalker, dear god help me.
> 
> (By the way, last chapter had a line from the poem 'Aedh wishes for the cloths of heaven' -'tread softly, for you tread on my dreams.' This line is not mine: I disclaim it- forgot to when posting yesterday.)

Marc doesn't really have a plan C; he hadn't foreseen the catastrophes that were A and B panning out like they had.

So he backs off a bit, settles down for a week or two and spends them just watching his team mate and, since he was paying attention, learning more about her.

She _really_ hates mornings. Marc doesn't know how he's never noticed this before; now he's looking, he sees how she's ever so slightly surly until well past mid-morning, more prone to sarcasm.

He finds he loves her more biting sense of humour, too.

He notices the subtle differences in their bikes, too- nobody with a casual eye would realise the seat on Dani's is an inch lower than on his own, otherwise identical-looking machine, and he slaps himself mentally for not picking up on this earlier.

She barely breaks the five foot mark. The top of the windscreen, such as it is, reaches the bottom of her ribcage. Dani is _tiny_ , and Marc suddenly appreciates how much time she must spend in strength training to physically handle the motorbike she rides for a living.

She is still one of the riders who can never pick her bike up by herself when it’s in the gravel. Marc wonders if she’s ever resentful of the upper body strength advantage the others have on her, but figures it’s one of those things she considered starting out then ignored because she couldn’t change the facts.

Dani isn’t one for imagination. She doesn’t waste time on issues she can’t prevent or solve. On race weekends, she pores over her data sheets, and half of them end up covered in annotations and highlighter where Dani thinks settings and times can be improved.

Her hair is neatly braided back at all times, and Marc's still never seen it entirely loose, nor does he know how long it really is- the braid hits her shoulder blades, so he’s guessing waist-length? It’s a curious affectation in somebody who is otherwise so practical- it would be fair easier to chop the lot off, but she persists every working day in tying it all back before the world has a chance to see her.

It’s almost a physical expression of her control. He knows how important self-control is to his team mate, and becomes very good at picking out how many of her sweet smiles are false.

(He walks on air the day he realises that none of the false smiles are directed at him. Whatever else Dani might be with him, she is honest. She doesn't hide the fact the he annoys her sometimes, normally in the mornings, to the extent that she probably wants to slap him, or that sometimes she doesn't want company and so he can only stay in the vicinity as long as he doesn't talk to her.)

(He felt like he could fly the first time she sought him out for no real reason other than she fancied a chat, and he didn't look busy.)

He notices that her façade comes out most when the cameras are on; she wore a _skirt_ for the first and only time to Marc’s knowledge for a 2013 mid-season interview with one of the Spanish broadcasters. She really plays up being a girl in motorsport when it suits her, but so many of the mannerisms and gestures she employs then are a show, that he thinks it is only so her gender is never used against her.

(He didn’t think Dani noticed there’s Maria and Ana racing in the lower classes, that they are _never_ hounded the way Dani was, is, for being a girl. But then he caught her watching the Moto3 Malaysian GP last year with a satisfied smile, and Valencia with a _beam_ , and thinks _yeah, she knows exactly what she’s doing_.

Dani is proud- proud of her own achievements, and prouder still of the other women who are breaking into such a male dominated field, and she’s doing all she can to pave the way for them so all they need to focus on is their results.

He watches how careful she is of what exactly goes into her body, and admits that the muffin plan was doomed from the start. Blueberry might be her favourite, but Dani indulges very rarely, apparently because her deepest fear is waking up one morning and being unable to get her leathers over her thighs.

Marc thinks this is cute, but also bullshit. His saying as much earns him a wry grin, and a comment of, _what would you know? Any extra weight you gain never goes to your legs._ It’s the most obvious comment of femininity she’s ever said to him. Then Dani rolled her eyes and added that he could probably stand to gain a few kilos, because he was skinnier than her, the bastard.

(Marc thinks Dani in her leathers is some sort of cross between the nice, motorcycling girl next door stereotype- if there is such a thing outside the racing world- and something out of a fetishist's playgirl magazine. Because it’s _Dani_ , but it’s Dani in a form-fitting leather bodysuit, and Marc is, despite what fans and rivals say, only human.)

Unlike most of the men she shares a paddock with, Dani is either in her leathers or in her casual wear. She doesn't lounge around in the garage with the zip undone to her waist, not even when the temperature is in the forties. Marc is grateful for this, or he thinks that despite the tank top she always has on underneath them, he would never get any work done.

Finally, Marc realises that he could probably write a book titled ‘Everything I know about Daniela Pedrosa’, and it would never be complete, because he still wants to know _more_.

(He also realises he is reaching levels of stalker-ism even ringing her parents couldn’t match. This needs to stop, _soon_.

He needs to man the hell up and finally _do_ something about this little obsession, clearly.)

-*-

Dani shuts her motorhome door and slumps on the sofa. She loves her parents, but calling her mother still feels like a chore, sometimes. She isn’t entirely enthusiastic about her upcoming task.

Her father has never been anything but supportive of her choice- it was him who got her the little minibike when she was four, who taught her how to hold the clutch in and who encouraged her past all the health problems she had as a child to go into racing professionally.

Her mother, on the other hand, isn’t dead set against her racing, per say, but frets like any mother would when she sees the latest injury Dani incurs through her chosen career. It’s- tense, sometimes, because her mum wants her to be happy and loved and wants grandchildren to spoil, and not always in that order. She drives Dani insane sometimes, and her dad laughs from the neutral ground between them because he says Dani takes after her mother in pretty much everything, but especially in stubbornness.

Dani takes this to mean she drives her mother right up the wall, too. Fair’s fair.

She dials the number. Her mum is expecting the call, and picks up after three rings.

“Daniela Pedrosa Ramal, I can’t believe you waited until our regular phone call to say anything!”

Full name. Shit, what has she done (or _not_ done) in the last few weeks? Dani pulls the phone away from her ear and stares at it. She can still hear her mother’s words through the speaker despite the distance and lack of speakerphone.

“Say what?” She interrupts cautiously. “I’m not actually injured at the moment?” She can’t think of anything else it could be. Sure, she had that crash in free practice, but she walked away without limping.

“For once,” her mother snipes.

Yeah, Dani takes after her mother a _lot._

“I’m talking about your boyfriend!” The woman continues, audibly excited.

Dani drops the phone.

She fights with the cushion to reclaim it, and finds her mother still talking. “-And I worry that he’s a bit young for you, honestly, but what’s an age gap between two consenting adults, anyway? He showed maturity for such a tender age by calling us so your dad thinks he’s hilariously smitten with you.”

“Who- what- _who called you_?” If this is Jorge playing another prank, she is going to kill him and let Livio deal with the press’s reaction. Involving her parents is _low_ , even for him.

Especially for him, even. She thought they respected each other more than that.

“Marc, of course! Don’t play innocent with me, Daniela, that stopped working _years_ ago!”

Dani isn’t playing innocent. Dani isn’t playing shocked, surprised- any synonym along similar lines.

Dani is completely and utterly _gobsmacked_.

Her mother, of course, interprets her silence to mean something else entirely. “Did you think you could keep him a secret forever, when I’ve been waiting for you to settle down for _years_? I mean, I’ve always hoped you’d get out of racing before getting into a serious relationship, because- well- it isn’t the _best_ field for stability, now is it? He’s so much younger than you, too- have you considered what will happen when you retire or if one of you moves to a different team-”

Dani hangs up, then switches her phone off immediately. Her mum will give her hell for it, but that is a minor concern at the moment.

Marc called her _parents_? _Marc_ called her parents?

Whatever emphasis she puts on it, the question does not become plausible.

_Why_?                                     

She considers ringing back and asking, but the probable headache dissuades her as soon as the thought crosses her mind. Her mother has clearly gotten the wrong end of the stick-

-hasn’t she? Oh God, _has_ she?                                     

Dani wracks her brain, but cannot think of a time when Marc’s flirted with her. Not even in jest like Jorge used to. There’d be signs, surely?

The coffee and the muffin spring to mind, alongside a handful of other moments when it’s just the two of them together. She initiates their conversations just as much as Marc does; if he was _interested_ in her, wouldn’t it be more his doing than hers? Marc hadn’t seemed overly friendly when they walked to the press conference that morning, just chatting normally with her. And he’d said nothing about the muffin incident; he was as curious as she as to what was going on.

The main reason she doesn’t dismiss the idea out of hand is that her mother is not an idiot, and she wouldn’t lie to her.

So Dani decides to take the straightforward approach, and ask Marc _what the hell is going on?_ the next time she sees him.

(Dani can’t help herself; she semi-seriously entertains the thought that her mother has read the situation entirely correctly, and winces. Marc wasn’t even racing 125s when she moved up to 990s. She is seven and a half years older than him.

_God_ , that makes her feel old.

She can’t deny she’s flattered by the notion. But she can’t seriously believe it’s true, because if seven and a half years is wince-worthy to her, it must be horrifying to the younger end of the spectrum.

So the question remains, just what the hell was Marc doing when he phoned her parents?)


	4. How Long?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dani goes for answers. She gets more than she wants to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what I do on my rare days off: I sit down with my laptop and write, read, smoke and forget to eat the day away. So: two chapters, one day. Just in case anyone skipped to here without reading chapter 3: I uploaded two chapters today. This one will make less sense without reading the preceding one :D
> 
> Enjoi.

“Marc!”

He turns, and smiles automatically to see Dani walking up to him.

“Do you have a minute?”

His smile slips. Her tone is worryingly serious. “Sure,” he says, following her into a more secluded area.

She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes for a moment, then stares straight at him. “Why were you calling my parents?”

_Jesus Christ_. Straight to the point; she gives him no warning, and Marc flounders for an answer. Why hadn’t he considered the fact that parents speak to their children before carrying out his plan?

But he had expected the plan to work, so Dani would have found out anyway. When it didn’t, he completely forgot about the loose ends he’d left hanging.

“Marc?” she touches his elbow, and looks concerned. “This is worrying me slightly; why did you call them?”

This is not how he wanted any of it to come out. “I- I had a question for them,” he stutters slightly. “About you, I mean, and it was a bit pointless and I was a bit drunk so I looked up their number and asked them instead.”

It’s technically not a lie, and it’s the only thing that saves him from being completely rumbled. There’s a part of him screaming at himself to drop the crap and _just tell her_ , but this is _not_ how he wanted to do it; he can’t see a positive end to this conversation.

Dani raises an eyebrow, and Marc feels like the child he tries so hard not to be around her. “You were talking about me when you were drunk? With who?”

Because _of course_ that’s what she picks up from his fumbled words. “Alex,” he says, still technically honest. “You were a big inspiration to both of us growing up, you know?”

-*-                                                      

Dani hears what Marc’s saying, and feels more reassured that her mother has the wrong end of the stick. “I was?” she smiles gently, teasing him. She’s more comfortably flattered by the idea that it’s all a bit of harmless hero-worship.

Bless the younger man, he blushes. “You _know_ you’re the most successful woman in MotoGP history. You were ground-breaking news for most of our childhood, one of the interesting things about the races.”

-*-                                                         

Marc wishes he could stop implying their age gap with his words- it really doesn’t matter to him. His crush might have started when he was younger, but the obsession began when they were both adults.

Marc wishes he could stop speaking on parallel lines to the truth. But every instinct he relies on when racing tells him this is not the right time to drag things back onto a single track, even if in the long run it will be more difficult for him.

Marc wishes that for once, _just for once_ , he didn’t have to fight tooth and nail for one of the things he wants (mostly he is fighting himself in this, and that’s always been his biggest obstacle).

Marc- well, Marc wishes for a lot of things.

-*-                                 

Dani grins. “Don’t tell anybody else that- they might never forgive me if they hold me responsible for getting you interested in racing.” She lets go of his elbow, like she’d forgotten about the contact until then.

Marc hadn’t.                                     

“If you’ve got a question, ask _me_ ,” she says more sternly. “You cannot imagine the grief I got down the phone from my mum. I can’t promise I’ll answer,” she shrugs, because she _is_ a private person, and everybody knows it, “But we’ll see. What did you ask her, anyway?”

Marc cannot say _anything_ about cake. “Your mother didn’t tell you?” he asks, completely relieved.

Dani shakes her head. “I hung up halfway through the conversation- like I said, the _grief_. You don’t even want to know what she thought of it all.” But she won’t be side tracked, “So what was it?”

Marc knows exactly what Mrs Pedrosa thinks of it all, and winces. Dani takes this completely the wrong way, and is side tracked despite herself. Reassuring her team mate takes precedence to her curiosity.

“I’ll set her straight, don’t worry.” She winks at him, self-deprecatingly. “I know I’m far too old for you!”

Marc _cannot_ let that belief stand. “You aren’t,” he objects quickly. Dani looks surprised, speechless, so he puts his foot in it even more. “It’s what, seven years?” he says casually, like he hasn’t worked out the difference in days. “That’s not a lot, speaking in modern terms.”

Dani has a niggling doubt that hero-worship might be a by-line for _crush_ , and that her mother was more right than she initially realised. Something with how quick he was in decrying her words, and the shifty way he’d been speaking for the entire conversation. She’d put it down to embarrassment, but what if it _was_ actually more?

She seizes Marc’s idea and runs with it. “Then clearly, we’re from different eras,” she grins to dispel any sting her words might contain, and hopefully, lets any thoughts in his head down gently. “You were there when I told Jorge,” she forces her voice to stay casual, “I’m not looking for romance.”

Marc’s face confirms it for her- he looks _mortified_ ; he knows what she is edging around. Dani feels ice form in her stomach.

“Jesus Marc, how long?” she nearly grabs his elbow again, but aborts the motion halfway through when the context comes back to her.

It’s a bit daunting to notice how often she reaches out and touches her team mate, thinking nothing of it.

“How long, Marc?” She repeats the question when he doesn’t answer. He’s looking at his feet, refusing to meet her eyes. “Since the cake?” She puts the dots together, incredulous. “You rang my parents up to ask them what my favourite _cake_ is? You drove me crazy over that stunt! My mother will be driving me crazy for _years_ over that stunt!”

-*-

Everything collides on that single track Marc was trying _desperately_ to avoid. It feels very much like crashing.

He has to be honest now, he knows. All the possible damage has already been done. “Always,” he mumbles, not looking up to see the horror he thinks she’ll display.

His heart feels like it’s breaking. He didn’t know himself how deeply his obsession had rooted.

-*-

Dani is silent for all of four seconds, digesting that hurriedly muttered word. Always. _Always_.

Oh _God_.                                           

“Marc,” she begins, but she has nothing to say to that. She has no idea what expression is on her face.

“Marc,” she tries again, but what can she say? _I’m horrified_ would be cruel, and _I’m flattered_ would be mostly a lie.

There’s a part of her that _is_ flattered, because Marc Marquez, the record breaking, current world champion _Marc Marquez_ is standing in front of her-

-and looking so young, she feels disgusted with herself-

-and well, not professing, but admitting that he’s got some sort of crush on her. That’s all Dani can let herself think, even if the heartbreak on his face suggests something deeper.

Dani already dislikes herself for what she has to do. If the idea it was any more sinks into her mind, she might well hate herself for it.

“ _Marc_ ,” she insists, and he finally looks up. “I can’t let anything happen of this, you must know?” He doesn’t nod, or give any sign he agrees with her. “I can’t even count how many ethical boundaries it would cross, and I refuse to take advantage of you,” she adds. Being practical gives her something to say, something to think about. Being practical is good, it’s what she’s used to.

“I’m _not a kid_!” Marc insists furiously. “Why won’t you see me as anything else?”

“You are _seven_ years younger than me!” Dani insists right back. “I was in MotoGP before you even started racing! How can you _want-_ ”

“It’s not like I woke up one morning in love with you,” Marc tries to calm himself, to be mature about it all, but his palms are sweaty and his pulse is quick. “Yeah, I had a crush on you when I was younger- sounds like most of us did from the gossip,” he adds this little comment spitefully and immediately wishes he could take it back; Dani looks like she’s been slapped, “but this isn’t harmless, childish infatuation anymore. I got to know you as an adult, and I found I _like_ you, Daniela Pedrosa. I like you a lot. And I don’t care that you’re seven years older than me; _I don’t care_!”

She gives him a steady, hard-eyed look. “I do,” she says. “And I’m sorry, because I hate the fact that I didn’t realise sooner, before it would hurt so much for me to say this-”

“What part of _always_ don’t you understand? It never would have hurt any less!”

“I’m sorry,” Dani repeats. There’s nothing else she _can_ say.

Marc has one last card to play. “It’s your only objection, isn’t it? The age gap?” She’s said nothing else against it.

Not that she couldn’t want him, too. It’s a forlorn hope, but it’s all that he’s got left.

“Marc-” Dani bites off the name in frustration. “It doesn’t matter; I _do_ object to the age gap, and that should be enough!”

_It doesn’t matter_. Marc’s eyes go very wide. “You’ve thought about it,” he near-whispers.

“I haven’t,” she says softly, honestly, and it cuts deep. Then she swallows. She doesn’t know if this will make it better or worse, but it’s still the truth. “But mostly because I’ve never looked past your age.” It’s a wall she hasn’t really been aware of in her own mind, until she put together her subconsciously reaching out to him only minutes ago.

How often has she clapped him on the shoulder, punched him on the arm and hugged him after races? How much has she encouraged him without meaning to?

Marc can’t believe he is _hearing_ this.

It is unthinkingly cruel of her, to give him the littlest bit of hope mixed with the certain knowledge that it is in vain. His heart doesn’t care what his head is hearing, only that it isn’t really _him_ she objects to. It’s just a number.

Cruelty was what he didn’t expect of her, every time he imagined this conversation.

He turns on his heel and pretends he doesn’t hear her gasp as he walks away.


	5. I broke somebody's heart today

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dani wouldn't be so upset about it if she didn't care about Marc at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (and this is what I do when I should be sleeping. This has completely taken over my life.)

Dani is not normally prone to fits of violence, but after slamming the door to her motorhome, she grabs her pillow from the bed and viciously pummels it.

Dani is also not prone to drinking (she can’t handle much of it, so she avoids it completely when she can) but tonight it seems like a great idea to hit up Lorenzo on his phone and schedule a session at the bar closest to the circuit.

She’s already halfway through her beer when he gets there.

“Stop smirking,” she says before he can greet her, “Order a beer, and get drinking.”

He raises his eyebrows, but wisely declines to comment. They drink in silence until Dani’s finished her first and starts her second, then he speaks.

“Why am I here? I assume from your posture that this won’t end in my motorhome?”

Even the jesting allusion to flirting makes her think of Marc, and she winces. Then she drinks more, because this is precisely what she is trying to forget.

She broke his heart today, and she knows it. The look on his face, right before he turned away, will haunt her for some time.

He sees her twitch. “Shit, Dani, what happened?” He knows she’s already renewed her contract, so she hasn’t been fired. “Are your family okay?”

“Fine.” Dani takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, drinks some more. The words are difficult to say, and she wants to leave Marc’s name out of it, but she _needs_ to talk about this. It will eat her up inside if she bottles it down.

“Then what-”                  

“I broke somebody’s heart today,” she says distantly, like the words aren’t really coming from her. “You know those tragic scenes in films and you think, God they’re a good actor, you can almost believe they were really in love? I saw that today in real life. I broke his heart.” Her voice breaks on the last word.

Jorge feels his own heart freeze, because with his insider knowledge there is only one person she can be talking about. _Marc. Shit._

But Dani is his immediate problem, so he listens to her uncomfortably relate the bare bones of the conversation earlier.

“There’s an obstacle- something _I_ think is an obstacle, but he disagrees. He doesn’t see it the same way, and I _broke his heart_ because I couldn’t make him see why I was rejecting him. I wasn’t doing it to be cruel- but I made it worse, _I was cruel_ and I was only trying to make it better! I was only being honest, but it hurt him _so much-_ ”

“Dani,” Jorge murmurs. He grabs her shoulders and forces her to look at him. “Dani, it’s always going to look cruel from the side doing the heart breaking. All that means is that you aren’t made of stone.”

“You didn’t see his face,” Dani whispers. “God, his face.”

Jorge tries not to let his guilt show on his own face, because this is not what he meant with ‘weeks of torment on Daniela Pedrosa’.

“I asked him how long,” Dani is rambling, saying things as they come into her head. “I asked, ‘How long?’ and do you know what he said?”

“Forever?” Jorge guesses, but Dani shakes her head.

“That would have been better- I could pass that off as a childhood love, a fairy tale thing. He said ‘always.’ Nothing else, just- _always_.”

Jorge and Alex were wrong. Jorge and Alex were _so far wrong_ , because this isn’t funny. This is a God damned _mess_ , and most of it is his fault. Marc probably wouldn’t have pushed so hard without Jorge’s ‘advice’; he would have worn Dani down gently because here’s the thing: Dani cares.

Dani cares about Marc, and if she admitted it all at once it would break her. If Marc had stayed quiet, kept letting Dani reach out for _him_ , she would have broken down gradually and she would have come round to the idea that _seven years do not matter_. Then, what would stop her from reaching back in full knowledge of her actions?

All Jorge really has to go on is the fact that Dani never hugged Hayden or Stoner after a one-two finish, but from somebody like her, that was plenty.

His rash words might have broken something that could have been brilliant, and Jorge feels guilty as hell for it.

Dani won’t be able to get properly angry at him tonight, and he thinks she deserves to. So he pretends he doesn’t know who she’s talking about, and tries to look worried rather than guilty.

“Dani,” Jorge cuts into her rambling, because he has to try _something_ or he won’t be able to sleep at night.

(He cares, just the slightest bit, too. Dani called _him_ to unload to because sleeping together just once was enough to work out that she was not a frigid bitch, and he wasn’t completely an arrogant prick. It was also enough to work out that friendship was as far as they could go together, because the woman would be impossible to live with, and she thought the same of him.

She _trusts_ him with something like this. It digs the knife in deeper, and justifies his decision to keep quiet because her anger should be a sight to behold, and he deserves every minute of it.)

“You’re taking this too heavily,” he explains when she looks confused- he said her name and then trailed off, lost in thought. “Don’t you think- maybe- do you care about him too?”

_Did you break your own heart alongside Marc’s?_ He doesn’t say, but she’s sober enough to know what he means.

Dani bursts into tears.

-*-

“Alex!” Marc thumps on his little brother’s door. “Alex, for the love of God, _please_ let me in.”

There is a crashing noise, then the door is wrenched open and his little brother is there. Marc stumbles forwards, and hugs his taller, younger brother with all his strength.

“Marc- what happened- _Marc_!” Alex pries his brother off and stares at him.

Marc looks _wrecked_. His hair is ruffled like he’d been tugging at it, his eyes are bloodshot and Alex thinks he can see dried tear stains on his cheeks.

Alex pulls him inside and closes the door quickly. Marc is unresisting, lets himself be tugged this way and that until they are both sitting on the sofa.

“She worked it out,” Marc says hoarsely. “She worked it out, Alex, and she-”

But Alex knows where this is going. Only a few weeks ago he worried it was more than just a crush; now he _knows_. The knowledge does not feel good.

“I don’t think she even meant to- but it hurts, God Alex, it hurts _so much_.”

Alex never wants to fall in love. He makes that promise to himself as he watches his older brother break down on his sofa, unable to do anything to help him.

“Do you know what the worst bit is?” Marc is _still talking_ , and Alex wishes he would just _shut up already_ because this can’t be healthy. It sounds like Marc is just punishing himself.

Really, he’s trying to draw the poison from his wound.

“It’s because I’m _too young_ ,” Marc sneers, then the harsh expression breaks and he looks gutted. “She all but said it herself- she just can’t see past a fucking number!

“No teenager could feel this bad. No _crush_ or _infatuation_ could ever feel this bad. If I’m not too young for this, why am I still too young for her?”

Alex has no answer for his older brother. He has no experience to draw from, and he thinks he never wants it.

(Alex may _look_ older than his brother, but he is definitely the young one. The ironic thing is, if somebody aged twenty-eight started acting more than friendly towards Alex, _Marc_ would make sure they were never able to act _fully_ on their intentions.)

-*-

“Shit, Dani, what-”

“I’m sorry,” she gasps out, trying to stop herself from crying more. The words echo what she said to Marc earlier, and her attempt fails. “God, that was all I could say to him, _I’m sorry_. What good is that? Sorry for hurting you, for being cruel about it, for being so blind I couldn’t stop it before it got so bad-”

_Always_ , Marc had said. Her tears won’t stop.

Jorge signals the bartender for a glass of water. The man complies, looking slightly worried, but there is no explanation for this that he can give. Dani’s trying to keep it under wraps (even if she’s doing a _terrible_ job of it) so it isn’t Jorge’s place to say anything.

She takes a sip, then another to soothe her throat. Her tears keep trailing down her cheeks, but at least the sobs are more under control.

“You’re right,” she admits quietly. “I _do_ care. I care so fucking much I hate myself. Because that obstacle is more of a line, and that line is one I thought should never be crossed. I’ve read about situations like this and always wondered what the me in that scenario was doing, and why they were allowed to get away with it.”

Dani wants to protect Marc, but she needs to say this. So she raises her head and defiantly bites out, “It’s Marc.” She dares him to judge her.

(He cannot judge her any more harshly than she judges herself.)

“He said always. That whatever I said, it would always have hurt because- that’s why I didn’t notice, because he’s always-” her voice trembles, and she changes what she thought she was going to say- “He’s always _cared_ , so nothing in how he acts around me changed. It was always there for me to see, and I was blind."

She could grow to hate that word, _always_. She doesn't think it will have positive connotations for her ever again.

Now she's admitted it, Jorge can be blunter. "You care about Marc too, Dani, and I'll say it as many times as it takes for it to sink in to your skull."

"I know, alright?" _There's_ part of the anger he deserves, quicksilver and flashing in her eyes. "God, I know." The hugs, all the little touches; she knows _now_ , when it's too late for her revelation to do any good. "I'd never take half the crap he does from- well, you."

This, Jorge already knows. When he tries to hug Dani, he gets bruised ribs for his efforts. Marc gets pulled closer.

"It's the age thing, isn't it? That line you refuse to cross?"

"What else?" Dani says. "I can't do that to him. I _won't_ do that to him."

Jorge's curiosity _burns_. "What are you so scared of doing? What do you think you'll do that he won't forgive you for?"

"I don't- I didn't-" Dani stops, and tries again. "I _don't_ want romance."

At this point, the first person to convince was herself, she sadly realised.

"It found you anyway," Jorge quips, and Dani glares. _Too soon_ , he decides, but he's saving all the jokes he can think of until it's less like prodding an angry bear with a very big stick.

"I didn't want romance," Dani starts again, and Jorge doesn't draw attention to her slipping into the past tense. "He's got so many young and idealistic notions- he rang my parents, for God's sake- that I don't want to be the one to shatter them. He needs someone his own age that he can shower with gifts and affections, someone who won't cuff him over the head because it's eight in the morning and far too bloody early for any of his antics-"

"But he _wants_ you," Jorge says quietly. "And I think he knows exactly who he wants. He's twenty-one, Dani- I can't think of a country that's not over the age of consent. He rang your parents, _maybe_ because he knows you're an old traditionalist and he's mature enough to work out how to do right by you."

"He did it to find out what kind of _cake_ I like," Dani mutters, and Jorge stifles an inappropriate laugh.

"You like him for the way he acts, the way he is. If he was twenty-five and acting like he was four years younger, you'd think it was a cute quirk because you like him like that- youthful and energetic as he can be at times. But it's the other way around; he's twenty-one and acting with more maturity than you want to give him credit for- it's the same idea, just reversed. The only problem you have is the number."

Dani eyes him sidelong, and finishes her water. "I called you out to get drunk, not psychoanalysed," she says, like he's betrayed her by not being a shallow bastard.

"You don't want to break his idealism, but you broke his heart, and probably your own too, you stupid idiot, instead." He stares at her, eyes serious. "Where does that make sense?"

Dani has no answer.

"I'll take that drink, now." He summons the bartender and orders not a beer, like she expected, but-

" _Tequila_?" she has to ask.

"Flavoured with bitterness and tears," he answers, licking up the salt and biting the wedge of lemon.

He's doing as she asks and being a snide but clever bastard at the same time. She's unwillingly impressed, and takes her own shot in silence.

_And probably your own too, you stupid idiot._

"Seven years," she murmurs. "It's longer than he's even been riding."

"Why are you so bloody stubborn about this?"

"I _need_ to know that I won't hurt him worse by letting him in, letting him close and then not being what his twenty-one year old mind imagined," she says. "I thought something like that- if you fall so hard for your _idea_ of a person- reality can crush you."

Jorge thinks it over. "I still can't believe it's worse than having his heart broken before he gets to work that out for himself. That's part of being young and in love, remember?"

Dani grimaces. "Don't remember; it never happened for me. But you're right." She takes another shot as soon as she says it, as though washing the taste of the words from her mouth. "Because if he's old enough to have his heart broken, then he's old enough to-" she can't bring herself to say it. Only so much progress can be made in one night.

Jorge proves yet again that he is actually a friend as well as a bastard, and says what she needs to hear. "He's old enough for you to entrust with your own." He takes her hand from the bar top and holds it, just for a moment. "Just because you couldn't live with me, doesn't mean he'll be the same problem. You shouldn't be scared of falling in love, Dani."

"He isn't you," Dani mutters. "It's a big advantage to be starting with." Quieter, she adds, "And I'm not scared- I've always been very concentrated on my career, instead."

Fucking _always_. It is far too prevalent a word.

Jorge manfully ignores this. "If he wants you as you are now- which he does, most of the paddock could work it out if they looked- and you want _him_ as he is _now_ \- which you do, even if you've only just realised it- then why are numbers a problem at all? If you were thirty eight to his thirty one, would there be a problem?"

"No," Dani admits, shame-faced.

So Jorge grins at last, because he's already damned from his as-yet-unmentioned guilt, and if he's going to hell, he's doing it properly. "Then congratulations, Pedrosa," he says. "You're an idiot _and_ a bitch, because you broke your own heart and his for a reason you finally admit is bullshit."

Dani doesn't normally drink; the water helped, but she's feeling tipsy again after their shots.

Dani doesn't normally do violence either, but she takes _great_ pleasure in thumping him for _that_ one.

-*-

Marc wakes up on his brother’s sofa. He is neck is sore and his eyes are gritty. His heart hurts too, and it’s not like he expected it to all be better in the morning light, but he does wonder how he’s going to look at her now. How he’s going to work with her, and not give anything away to the rest of the world.

_It doesn’t matter._

Marc’s going to be mature about this. He’s not going to go around like nothing’s changed; he can’t act that well. But if he can back off, show he accepts her reasons even if he doesn’t understand them- then, well.

Stupid, _stupid_ hope.                                

He’s setting himself up for another fall, probably. But he loves Daniela Pedrosa- somewhere between his plans and his stalking, he fell for her. It’s not something that fades quickly, despite the way she hurt him.

He’s put the idea in her head. If she hadn’t thought about him that way before, she will now. And if he can show her that he really loves her, enough to respect her wishes and back away, enough to protect her valued privacy so no one else catches wind of their argument, enough to completely remove all and any pressure from her and let her make her own decision-

-It might just be enough for her to see more than a number when she looks at him.

He sits up slowly, getting used to the idea of his resolution.

“Marc!” Alex sees him moving and makes a beeline for the sofa. “How do you feel?”

He gives his brother a subdued, half-smile. “Not great,” he says. “But better than I did last night.”

“Are you going to see her?” Alex asks quietly.

Something in Marc’s heart twists. “No,” he decides. “The weekend’s done with; it’s not so hard to believe we just wouldn’t run into each other again.” No, he’s going to give her space, at first.

The real question, the one that will decide his actions after that, is _will she miss him_?


	6. Baby, when you're gone-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> '-I realise I'm in love.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re: chapter title: I couldn't resist. Bryan Adams says it best.
> 
> I've got a timeline for this, by the way. It's not really race orientated, so I hadn't thought to add it in, but the revelation is at Mugello; the cupcake and coffee at Catalunya; the stalking takes place between then and Assen, where the shit hits the fan. This chapter leads up to Sachsenring. Suddenly realised it might work better with dates.
> 
> Pun unintended. That happy ending is coming, I swear.
> 
> ...
> 
> my *mind*.
> 
> Enjoi.

Dani sends him just one text, the next day.

_I’m sorry, Marc. Have a nice flight._

He deletes it, and doesn’t reply.

-*-                           

It takes Dani three days to stop compulsively checking her phone every fifteen minutes. She charges it up every one of those days, when normally it would go to four before she need bother.

On the fifth day, she can’t stand the Swiss solitude anymore and rings her mother, frowning as her phone tells her there are seven missed calls and three voicemails from this contact. Does she want to hear them?

_No,_ she bloody does not. She’s about to hear everything in person again, anyway.

Her call isn’t expected, so it takes longer to be answered this time. Just when she’s about to give up, the _click_ of connection comes through and her mother’s surprised voice: “Daniela? _Daniela Pedrosa_ , the words I have to say to you!”

“Mum,” Dani says. Just that, and there is a brief silence.

“I’m putting you on speaker, and getting your dad,” her mother says decisively. “Give us a minute, honey.”

Her mother hasn’t called her _honey_ since she broke both her ankles in 2003. Dani can’t believe she remembers that.

Dani refuses to cry again. She called her parents for information; how terrible did she sound for her mother to react like that?

“What’s wrong, Dani?” Her father’s voice comes down the line.

“I fucked up,” she says bluntly, ignoring her dad’s tut of _language_. She’s twenty-eight, for God’s sake.

(She catches the automatic wince before it happens, and is immensely proud of herself.)

“I need to know what Marc said to you when he called, so I might be able to fix it.”

“What do you mean-” her father starts, but her mother talks over him.

“He explained who he was. I nearly had a heart attack thinking that something had happened to you, but he denied that quickly. He said he was wondering if there was a particular sweet or treat you liked, and well, I said blueberry cakes, because they’re the only things I’ve ever seen you ignore your diet regimen for.”

“I paid for it that August,” Dani mutters. She’d had to go up a size in leathers, and had been _mortified_ until she’d shed the weight again for the last race of the season.

“Besides the point, Daniela; you’re stuck with my figure, I’m afraid. I almost thought you were pregnant.”

“I remember. Thanks for the perpetual diet, mum,” Dani replies drily. She drags the conversation back before they start really sniping at each other. “What was the bit about asking for your blessing?”

“He asked to speak to me.” Her dad sounds confused, but Dani can well imagine her mother’s look and mouthing _go on then_ to make him talk.

“ _And_?” She prompts impatiently.

“He said- give me a minute here, I’m trying to remember this properly.” He can clearly feel the expectant silence of two women bearing down on him. “He said he’d felt something for you for a while, and that he’d decided to try and _make a go_ of it.” Her father sounds bemused at the choice of words, even now.

_Oh, Marc_ , Dani smiles despite herself. It’s the first time since Sunday that it hasn’t been tinged with sadness.

“If you’d have him, of course. He added that very quickly. He then asked if I had any objections to it- he stated plainly that he might not agree with them, but he would at least consider any I brought up.”

Dani coughs to clear the blockage in her throat. “What did you say?”

“I said that you were twenty-eight years old. If he knew that, he should also know that it’s entirely your choice, and what I or your mother thinks doesn’t really come into it anymore.”

Dani really, _really_ loves her parents.

“And then your mother went and added that if he could convince you to stop racing, he’d be welcome to drop in any time.”

“I _never_!”

“Mum!”                       

“Ladies! Dani, what happened? I thought the next time you called, you’d mention at the last minute _by the way, remember Marc?_ and we’d pretend to be surprised but completely over the moon for you.”

Dani pauses. “You thought I’d say yes.” What? Her mind stalls.

“You _didn’t_? Daniela, what did you _do_?”

“I fucked up,” she repeats blankly, and her dad doesn’t reprimand her this time. Her mother speaks up instead.

“We thought- we’ve seen the pictures from the races, and you _smile_ around him, Daniela. God knows you’ve done your fair share of PR pieces and more, given your- situation- but these last eighteen months they’ve seemed less like a chore and more- well, more _you_.”

“What.” She says it flatly, no inflection to make it a question.

Her mother laughs, but it sounds forced. “We raised you, Daniela. You think we can’t tell when you’re putting on a show?”

“Did everybody _but_ me know?”

“You didn’t-”

“Dani, you _idiot_.” Her father has the last word. “That’s it, isn’t it? You were blindsided, and you got defensive.”

“I need to fix it,” she says, sidestepping the implication. “I’ve only got a week and a half ‘til Germany, and I need to fix it for then because we’ve got the summer break after that-”

“He’s not going to want to talk to you.” Her mother’s words stop Dani cold. “You must have seriously hurt him, or you wouldn’t be so desperate to ‘fix it’, as you say.”

“He’s a man, Dani, despite your reservations about his age,” (she can’t stop the wince this time, because how did she not realise how well her own _parents_ knew her?) “And he’s not going to want to talk to you, or even see you, for some time. Give him space before you re-open those wounds, even if you have the best intentions in doing so.”

Dani cocks her head, despite the fact that her parents can’t see her. “No,” she disagrees. “If I back off and give him space, he’ll never forgive me.”

“Daniela-”

“No,” she says more strongly. “You know me, alright, you _raised_ me, but you don’t know him. Not really. And if I don’t push it _now_ , you never will.”

She’s going to be _so_ far out of her comfort zone doing this; it will have every predator-prey connotation she’s painstakingly tried to avoid thus far.

_God_ , how much she cares about him.

Her parents are silent as they digest her rebuttal.

“Sounds like you got what you called us for, then,” her father eventually says, and damn him, he sounds _smug_. “You know what you’ve got to do.”

Dani feels tentative hope; she has a _plan_.

“Don’t wait for us to find out what happens on the news,” her mother can’t help but say. “If something changes, _tell_ me! And don’t think you’ve escaped a scolding for hanging up on me the other day, Daniela Pedrosa; it’s only postponed-”

Dani grins, and ends the call.

-*-

Marc gets another text on Saturday. He deletes this one without reading it.

-*-

_How are you?_

_Is Catalonia fun?_

_What have you been up to?_

_Okay, so I don’t expect you’re feeling great. But I hope it’s not too bad._

(Bloody _hell,_ that one had been awkward.)

_I’m guessing you won’t talk to me, then?_

_Can’t say I blame you._

_Are you still alive?!?_

_I_ am _sorry._

_But I hope you knew that already._

-*-

A lot of what she sends him is a variation on the many texts he’s sent her over the past year. Little, inconsequential questions that really only say, _hey, I just thought of you_.

She doesn’t get a reply to any of them, but that’s okay.

She doesn’t say anything about _it_ other than ‘I’m sorry’. Because she _does_ intend to re-open fresh wounds, and that needs to be done in person.

-*-

_When you want to talk, I’m here._

-*-

Alex makes it to the second Monday, then he can’t take it anymore.

“Would you either put it on silent or turn the damn thing off?”

He’s tempted to steal Marc’s phone and tell Dani to fuck off; she isn’t wanted here (it’s a lie, but it might hurt like Marc’s been hurting all through the last week and that makes it _okay_ in his opinion).

What stops him is that Marc is _smiling_.

“Not Dani, then?” He ventures. The name has been pretty much taboo for the past week; even their parents had noticed, and not mentioned Marc’s team mate in casual conversation.

“No, it is,” Marc holds out his phone. “She says it’s raining in Switzerland.” Sure enough, there is a tiny photo on the screen. It’s an incredible shot- Alex wonders how long Dani stood at her window to time it _just_ right, and catch the bolt of lightning perfectly in the frame.

He also wonders what she’s playing at.

“How can you sit there and smile after what she did to you? You’ve been moping around the house for a week now, and she’s been texting you incessantly and you just sit there and _take_ it? You don’t even reply- why are you _smiling_?”

Marc slides his thumb over the screen; it returns to his inbox. He shows this to his younger brother too, and Alex’s jaw drops.

His phone organises its messages according to sender. Dani’s name is at the top of the list, and next to it, there is a little ‘31’ in brackets.

“She’s sent you _thirty-one_ messages? In what,” Alex does some quick maths, how long has Marc’s message beep been driving him crazy? “ _Four_ days?”

“More,” Marc points out. “I deleted the first few without reading them.”

“She broke you down, Marc.” Alex speaks very slowly, because he thinks his brother is missing a few of the pieces to this puzzle. “You were _wrecked_ that Saturday night at Assen and she did that to you. You avoided her like the plague until we left and you said it yourself- you deleted those messages at the start because you couldn’t bear to read them. _Why are you smiling_?”

Marc shrugs, completely nonchalant to his brother’s disbelief. “I love her.” He says it so freely, and Alex just _doesn’t get it_. “She hurt me, badly, and I decided that okay, _she’s_ the one with the issues, and if I can get past this, and I still love her then, it’s her decision. She knows what I think. It’s her move.” He looks down at his phone. “And I think she’s making it.” He looks back to his brother seriously. “I _have_ to be mature about this, Alex. I have to make her see that I’m not just rushing in like a childish idiot; that I take it seriously, take _her_ seriously.” The faintest shadow of a grin creeps into his expression. “And I think it’s working.”

“I thought the best loves were the sort you didn’t have to change yourself for,” Alex says softly. “It sounds to me like you’re changing yourself a hell of a lot for her.”

“Well.” Marc’s grin is suddenly full. “I’m still being a brat by not replying, aren’t I?”

-*-

_Storm didn’t help; it’s still too hot over here._

_Who delivers parcels at_ seven _in the morning?_

(Dani still hasn’t watched that DVD; she hopes it’s worth it.)

_Getting excited for Germany?_

_You broke my winning streak there, by the way._

_You little bastard :D_

(She doesn’t actually send this message, but it was a close run thing.)

_Packing now._

_I know I’ve still got two days, but I like to be prepared._

_Where did I put my keys?_

_No, shit, seriously._

_Found them!_

_I have no food in the house, but I refuse to go shopping the night before I leave._

_Night, Marc._

-*-

Dani’s suitcase is by the door; her keys are in her jacket and her alarm is set. She sends one last text, then closes her eyes.

Her phone beeps ten minutes later, and Dani bolts upright. Is it-

_Night, Dani. See you in Germany._

Her smile is pure relief. She doesn’t dream that night, but she doesn’t see Marc’s heartbroken face again either.


	7. "I mean it."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They need to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parts of this chapter really fought to be written. I hope it flows okay.
> 
> Enjoi.

Marc sees Dani before she spots him, so he can observe every expression on her face before she picks him out of the crowd.

She looks nervous. There are quick smiles as she greets people going past, but they don’t reach her eyes; she is distracted.

Looking for him? He doesn’t let his hopes get too high; he half expects her to turn around and say her texts were just attempts to re-establish friendly communication. That she doesn’t want the Honda garage to turn into a Yamaha fiasco with a divider between their halves and strict separation in the operating procedures.

She must feel his eyes on her: she looks up and finally notices him. _This_ is the moment Marc wants to see.

Dani visibly jumps and recollects herself. Her face flickers through expressions like she’s working out which one is the best to show him- there’s nervousness, concern, worry, determination and _fear_ right on its heels-

-then Dani reaches up and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. It’s such an innocuous gesture, and it hits Marc like a speeding train.

Dani is feeling self-conscious. Dani suddenly _cares_ what Marc thinks she looks like. Her plait is as impeccable as ever, with the short strands hanging on her forehead and the sides of her face- normally she doesn’t bother with them, ignores them so long as they’re secure under her helmet. Except for now.

His hope _wrenches_ itself free from his control and _soars_.

She smiles tentatively at him and waves; he remembers they are in public so he has to play it cool, show her in person now how much thought he is putting into everything. He waves back, and her smile gets stronger, _warmer._

Marc’s hope grows large enough to ride its own motorbike.

Then he’s right in front of her, and he’s not sure if he made the move, or she did.

“Hi, Dani.” He says softly.

-*-                                   

Dani wasn’t sure what she was going to do until he waved back. Then she takes the steps towards him before her body even consciously recognises the command.

His voice is so quiet, nothing like his normal greetings.

“Marc- I- how are you?”

_Ask a stupid fucking question, Pedrosa._

He raises his eyebrows. “ _That’s_ what you’re asking me?”

“No, ignore that, please-”                                    

“I felt like shit,” he cuts her off, perhaps rudely, but she can’t say she doesn’t deserve it. “What you said hurt. It still hurts. It’s going to hurt for a while. And Dani,” Marc sees her take a preparatory breath, and his tone is a warning, “If the next words out of your mouth are ‘I’m sorry’, I’m going to walk away right now.”

Dani closes her mouth.                            

“I _know_ you’re sorry. I _know_ you didn’t want to hurt me. But you did, and I’m going to take a while to get over it.” He checks over her shoulder and frowns. Dani wants to look, but doesn’t want to make it obvious they don’t want their conversation overheard.

“I won’t say anything else here. But can we- do you want…” He stutters and trails off, glancing at her with uncertain eyes.

“Do you want to talk later?” Dani both prompts and asks, feeling her heart in her throat. “I’d like that, if we could.”

“Me, too.” Hesitancy gone, Marc nods in the direction of the Honda garage. Dani nods back, and they walk over in silence.

Just before they enter, Marc catches Dani’s arm and with it, her attention.

“Thanks for the texts,” Marc says. “This might sound weird, but they helped. A lot. Eventually.” He stops himself when the words are still expressions of gratitude.

Dani gives the area a furtive look and decides that nobody is paying them close attention. She reaches out with her free hand and touches his other elbow, hoping it isn’t too much, too soon. “I missed you.”

Marc’s breath catches.        

“We’ll talk later, after practice,” she promises him- it sounds like a promise to him- and turns on her heel, entering the garage.

Marc takes a moment to remember how to breathe, then follows.

(And he _hopes_.)            

-*-

But later, there are crashes, and when Dani’s through being checked over properly by the Honda-approved physio and escapes, Marc is nowhere to be seen. She walks over to his motorhome and is about to knock when the door opens, and Alex steps out.

He is _not_ pleased to see her, and closes the door, blocking it bodily.

“No,” he says. “No, you aren’t going to see him now, not when he’s finally calmed down and resting his neck.”

“I said-”

“I don’t care what you said, Pedrosa.” Alex’s eyes are cold, and Dani shivers. It isn’t because of the ambient temperature.

“Alex-”                                       

The teenager crosses his arms and shakes his head.

“No, you’ve already said your piece. You said it and you let him walk away and you weren’t the one picking up the pieces that night. You can’t have anything left to say to him, not after the messages over the last week.”

“I said I’d-”

“He doesn’t need this, Dani!” Alex is clearly trying not to shout. “He needs to rest after his crash, didn’t you see it?!” His face turns dark. “And let’s talk about that crash, shall we?”

Dani takes a step back, because it sounds like he blames _her_ for it. “Excuse me?” she hisses at him.

“Don’t even try to tell me you think his head’s in the right place for racing; it isn’t, because all he’s thinking about at the moment is _you_!”

“I had nothing to do with his crash,” Dani glares at him. “The telemetry showed us what happened-”

“Do you even care? It’s not like you went rushing over to see if he was alright!”

Dani had been fucking petrified when she saw the angle Marc hit the floor at, but she isn’t going to explain her actions to Alex, not like this. “Because that’s exactly what he needs right now- _me_ asking him if he’s okay.” She curbs the sarcasm slightly; Alex is already fuming. “That wouldn’t have helped him.”

Alex takes her words and twists them against her. “You’re admitting it! You know he’s not alright and it’s _your fault_ , and you’re _still_ trying to see him and make it all worse!”

Dani is _done_ with this. “Alex!” her voice is urgent, but quiet. “I _promised_ Marc I’d talk with him tonight. Don’t make me break that promise, _please_.”

“Talk to me now. Convince me that I won’t have Marc at my door again tonight, begging me to let him in. Convince me to step away and risk you breaking my older brother’s heart again.”

How fucking stubborn is this kid? Dani says the words she should have believed two weeks ago.

“He’s his own person; he doesn’t need his younger brother looking out for him.” Dani sees his eyes flare and glares again. “No, _I’m_ talking now. He’s _old enough_ to decide if he wants to talk to me, if _he_ wants to take the risk that he’ll be back at your motorhome tonight because of something I’ll do, but for the record, _that is not my intention_. Yes, you want to protect him, but _he_ decided that he wanted to talk to me tonight and I promised him and I am _not_ going to break that promise no matter what you say to me now!”

Alex can’t reply to that.

Her breath comes out in pants where she needs to put air back into her lungs. A sudden flare of light makes them both turn to the open door, and Dani _freezes_.

Marc barely spares his brother a glance. “Alex, go.”

“But Marc-”

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, alright? Go.”

Alex glares at her once more, and stalks off. Dani’s left standing there, staring at Marc with wide eyes, barely daring to breathe at the _look_ in his.

She swallows, and loses every word she planned to say.

“Do you mean it? No, get inside-” he pulls her in when she doesn’t move and shuts the door, ignoring the loud slam.

“Do you mean it, what you just said to him?” He looks like he’s one word away from shaking her by the shoulders. Dani doesn’t know what that one word is, and she still _can’t say anything_.

“Dani, please! _Do you mean it_?” His fear, his hope, _everything_ leaks out with the words. Dani hears it all, and finally regains her voice.

“Yes,” she whispers, meets his eyes as the words come out. “I mean it.”

There _are_ hands on her shoulders, but Marc’s not shaking her, he’s pulling her close, flush against him, and the only response she can think of is to hug him back, to wrap her arms around his chest and press her face into his shoulder.

“I mean it,” she presses the words into his shirt, and his hold tightens.

-*-                                                                 

They _do_ need to talk, but Marc’s reluctant to let her go entirely so they end up holding hands on the sofa.

 _Like a couple of teenagers_ , Dani thinks, but there’s none of the self-disgust that would normally accompany such a thought. She thinks she might be well and truly past that obstacle.

This is _Marc_ , Marc who she rejected without realising she would break both of their hearts in the process, Marc who says he’s _always_ felt something for her, Marc who is twenty one, and who wants _her_ , and seems to know exactly what that means.

Marc who is seven and a half _years_ younger than her, and Dani could not care any less for that fact, anymore.

“Marc-”                                             

“Dani-”                       

He laughs, and it’s still a bit nervous. “You start.” His grip on her hand tightens.

“Right.” Dani lifts their entwined fingers. “Firstly, you’re cutting off my circulation. No, you don’t have to let go,” she grabs as he retreats, and resettles their hands more comfortably. “Better.”

Marc looks like he’s about to bolt, or expects her to vanish. “I’m not going anywhere,” she says, more sombre. “I wanted to talk to you too, remember? I haven’t done anything _but_ talk to you for the last week.”

He gives her a small smile.

“Right,” she clears her throat and stops rambling. “I mean it. I was a stupid idiot in Assen, and stupider still before that. I should have seen the way you acted around me- and I should have realised what the way _I’ve_ always reacted meant in return. But you blindsided me, and I couldn’t handle having it suddenly shoved in my face.” She smiles wryly. “I am well aware of the error of my ways, believe me.”

“You said you mean it.” Marc is still nervous, still fixating on those words. “What changed your mind? You sounded so sure.”

Dani shifts on her seat. “I didn’t even realise- when I said that to you, when I hurt you- I broke my own heart too.” She gives him a _well, what can you do?_ look. “It seemed pretty pointless to stand for that belief when you snuck in around it and made me care for you.”

“I did? You do?” The nervousness is dissipating; he’s starting to _believe_.                

“Just by being you. So, it seemed stupid to get hung up on one of the contributing factors.”

When Dani makes up her mind, she goes the whole nine yards. It might take her subconscious a couple of days to catch up, but she knows exactly what she’s doing in the moment when she reaches out for him.

“I lied,” Marc blurts out, kicking himself for the words and the _timing_ , because Dani’s backing away, clearly worried. “At Assen- I said it wasn’t like I woke up in love with you.” He figures she probably knows, but it’s the sort of thing that should be said, isn’t it? “I _do_ love you. You’re laying all your cards on the table, so I should do the same.”

Her face clears, and she huffs a laugh. “Warn me next time, will you? I _had_ worked it out already, but it’s nice to hear it from you.” Marc screws up his face like she’s _torturing_ him; he whines low in his throat.

“Dani!”                                          

“I love you, too. God help me.” She adds the second part in an undertone.

But she’s smiling, and Marc thinks it’s the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen.

“May I?” she asks, lifting their linked hands again.

“May you what?” Marc is confused.

She tugs their hands to her, and places a soft kiss on the back of his. “I’m a bit traditional,” she teases him, eyes mischievous.

“I’m not the girl here!” She just kissed his hand, and Marc honestly does not care for gender stereotypes. “But I suppose I already asked for your dad’s blessing.”

She _loves_ him.

“You love me,” he says it with awe.

“I mean it,” Dani winks.

Why is he still sitting across the sofa from her? “Come here.” He’s tugging her hand, but she doesn’t need the encouragement; they’re face to face, nose to nose, and he reaches out and stokes her cheekbone-

-she’s here with him, and it’s sinking in that she _wants_ to be here-

-he kisses her, and it’s everything he ever imagined it would be.


	8. Talking Points

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few little conversations that need to be had, after the big one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I enjoyed writing this one.
> 
> Enjoi reading.

Nothing else happens that night. Dani catches sight of the clock on the wall when she pulls away to breathe, and curses at what it said.

“How have I been here,” she presses a quick kiss to Marc’s neck, and sits up, “For two hours already?”

Marc groans. “Don’t do this to me. Don't leave now. I’ll beg. I’ll whine. I’ll cry if you do this to me.”

Dani nudges him. “No you won’t,” she says, near-on orders him. “Because then I won’t congratulate you if you win again on Sunday.”

She uses Marc’s suddenly lax grip to wriggle free from their embrace. It still takes a few minutes.

“You need to rest your neck,” she says, like he hasn’t been craning it at all angles to kiss her for the last two hours, “And I am old, and just need to rest before qualifying tomorrow.”

Marc is lying on the sofa, and he’s finding it hard to move. Dani looks- well, not mauled, they were gentler than that- but she looks like she has been kissed within an inch of her life, and then some more. Her clothes are rumpled, her pupils are blown, and her hair is, although still in its plait (why didn’t he think to do something about that earlier?) the messiest he’s ever seen it- large chunks are falling into her face, brushing her chin and collarbone.

It’s layered, he realises. Her hair is layered. He knows something else about her now. It’s _so_ curiously impractical of her, more so as it’s professionally styled, and _definitely_ something to ask about another time.

“You aren’t old,” he disagrees, revelling in how much this doesn’t sting to say, “You’re my incredibly gorgeous, mature, entirely too sensible girlfriend and _please_ get back here?” He raises his arms and tries to look pathetic.

He thinks he nails pathetically _smitten_ , and it’s not difficult.

Dani laughs at him and can’t resist ducking down for one last kiss, dodging his arms as he tries to pull her back onto the sofa with him. “Rest,” she says again, and he pouts. “Take your girlfriend’s advice,” she adds, kissing that pout like she doesn’t already know the exact shape of his lips, “Make her happy, and you will find that _your_ life is much happier as a result.”

Marc sighs, but sits up at last. “I live to make you happy,” he quips.

“No, tomorrow you live to leave us mere mortals in the dust and show me up outrageously when you take pole on a supposedly-identical bike by a staggering margin.”

He stands with her, and hints in the smallest fashion possible at his stalker-like nature. “They’re not though, are they? Identical, I mean.”

Dani stops just short of the door. “Pardon?”

“The seat on yours- it’s lower. Not by much, but just enough to tell.” She eyes him suspiciously. “Anyone could notice it!”

“Only you bothered to look,” she grouses, oddly charmed. “This isn’t exactly a short story,” Dani warns him, and acquiesces to his pleading face, “So I’ll give you the cliff notes version.

“2006 was very difficult for me- I could barely get my leg over the bike; my critics noticed and they had a good laugh over it, citing it as proof that a girl couldn’t cut it in MotoGP, let alone one so _small_. That winter, we experimented with different weight ratios and kits, and one of the mechanics hit upon the simple idea of lowering the seat. The only thing that had to be changed was the suspension; I’ve got less of an air gap at the back, but the chassis’s the same as yours. They’ve kept with it since then.” She smiles ruefully. “I’m lucky, I guess, that they didn’t decide it was too much trouble and not re-sign me after 2007.”

Marc didn’t realise how truly difficult her career must have been- she was lucky with Honda, but he can guess that the company loves having a token girl as one of its riders, something no other MotoGP team can boast. Something unique that puts them ahead of competitors- he wonders if it was a rise in sales to women worldwide that persuaded them to go through all of the trouble.

It’s a stupid thought, so he puts it back out of his mind.

“I’m lucky, too. Imagine who they might have stuck me with, if not you!”

She smiles gratefully at him. “You certainly wouldn’t be kissing them goodnight on the doorstep of your motorhome, would you?”

Marc plays devil’s advocate _very_ well, it should be known. “Well, Casey _was_ pretty fit. And if Adriana had been interested…”

He laughs as she hits his shoulder, and kisses her. “Night, Dani.”

“Night, Marc.” She lets him go, but he isn’t cold as he watches her walk away.

He feels re-forged, unbroken again.

It’s _brilliant_.

-*-

His neck _is_ sore when he wakes up, but he’s grinning despite this because just below it on his collarbone, there is a small red mark. It’s not one of the bruises from his crash.

_Morning, Dani :D_

He sends the text at seven forty-seven in the morning, and already knows what her answer will be.

>:\ _Bugger off._

Then, minutes later,

_Morning, Marc._

He’s normally cheerful in the mornings, but today there is something extra in his step, right up until he meets his brother on the way to the garage.

Alex is frowning. Alex is annoyed?

“Everything’s sweet and sorted for you, then?”

Marc checks his watch worriedly. “Alex, your session starts in twenty minutes. Shouldn’t you be with your team already?”

“It’s not like I have a lot to say.” Alex scuffs the ground with his toes, shoves his hands in and out of his pockets; both nervous gestures Marc is familiar with. “Or that you’d want to hear it, now you’ve got _her_.”

Something clicks. Alright, something _thunks_. “Last night…” Marc trails off. “I’m sorry I sent you away like that, okay? But I needed to talk to Dani. Especially after what I heard her say to you.”

Alex bites his lip. “You, er, heard all of that? Apology _not_ accepted, by the way, not until my next crisis that needs my big brother around to solve it.”

Marc grins, because that means he is forgiven. “I heard most of it. I didn’t know you were so protective of me. Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”

Alex shrugs. He’s more settled now Marc’s apologised, and is not offended by anything Alex said last night. “I’d say we take it in turns, but I haven’t been able to hide behind you since I was twelve years old, so…”

“Hey! Fifteen at the youngest!” His brother isn’t _that_ much taller than him. “You know I’m still here for you? Dani doesn’t change that.”

He doesn’t doubt Dani will understand this. She’ll probably think he’s stupid if he asks to clarify.

“Good. Or I might have had a problem,” Alex is unapologetic about this. Then he winces. “Er, can you apologise for me? I might have got a bit up in her face last night-”

“Oh, no!” Marc pokes him in the chest. “This is not a crisis. Talk to her, and take it like a man, little brother.”

“Take what? What is she going to say?”

“You’ve got fifteen minutes, by the way. Awfully chatty this morning, aren’t you Alex?” Marc lifts his wrist, showing the clock face to his brother.

Alex goes _white,_ curses, and starts running.

-*-

Dani pulls off her helmet and winks as he pulls up beside her. “You’re slipping. One second covering the whole top ten? Shame on you!”

“Or you lot are getting faster. Might be in trouble, tomorrow.”

She rolls her eyes at him. “Stop smiling; you aren’t that humble.”

-*-

Marc stifles a laugh when he sees Alex waiting for them that evening. He’s been looking forward to this.

He catches Dani’s eye, leans in and mutters, “Be gentle on him; I think he’s scared of you now.”

“You’re finding this hilarious, aren’t you?”

_Caught_. “A little, yeah.”

He grins widely as they meet up; Alex shifts from foot to foot, but Dani cuts in first.

“I know, being a little shit runs in your family. If I can stand _him_ ,” she nods at Marc, whose hand over his mouth is failing to hold in his laughter, “I can certainly forgive you for wanting to protect him.”

Alex looks relieved. “So, that was easy,” he says, hands going still at his sides. “But- yeah. Sorry if I was a bit over the top.”

She smirks at him. “No problem; we’re on the same team now.”

Alex catches her meaning, and they turn to Marc in sync. Marc abruptly stops laughing.

“You’re going to mother-hen me after every incident, aren’t you?” He has a sudden inkling of what his life might now be like.

(He has no problems with this, but he can’t let them know that. They might _stop_.)

“Good cop, bad cop?” Alex asks Dani. “I’ll yell at him, and you kiss it better?”

She frowns. “Why should you have all the fun?”

Marc’s ‘hey!’ is ignored. Alex has better ammunition.

“You need to step up to the plate, Marc. Your girlfriend doesn’t think kissing you is fun.”

“Dani thinks I’m a lot of fun!” He turns to the woman, eyes wide and beseeching. “Don’t you, Dani?”

“Lots,” she deadpans. Alex creases up beside her.

(Marc takes it back; in the future, he wants the two of them in separate corners, where they can’t tag-team him so mercilessly.)

-*-

Jorge finds her after the pre-race warm up. “So it’s not even ten in the morning, and you’re smiling. I assume everything is once again swell in the Repsol garage? Better than before, even?”

“Stop looking for gossip, Jorge.”

“But I actually have something important to tell you. After the race, we need to talk.”

Dani narrows her eyes suspiciously; he looks serious. “Am I going to like this?”

“No.”                    

“Is it going to affect anything?”

“Besides my pride? No.”

“If it takes your pride down a notch, I disagree with your first answer.”

Jorge winces. “Just come find me after the race? Preferably without Marc, it’s sort of to do with him.”

Now Dani is worried. “Jorge-”

“I promise you, it’s not going to change anything. But you deserve to hear it, regardless.”

She trusts him, so she lets it go. “Later, then.”

Jorge nods, resolute. “Later.”

If he wasn’t so serious, she’d suspect he was playing mind games. Then again, Jorge’s never been one for subtlety.

What can he want to talk to her about?


	9. I hear you're a mean old Jezebel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dani and Jorge talk. It is slightly better than her previous talk with Marc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from The Faces, 'Stay With Me'. Not the most romantic, but I like the lyric.
> 
> This isn't *entirely* happy, but it's not an angst fest. This fic doesn't have another angst fest.
> 
> Enjoi.

Dani spots Jorge by himself on the edge of the party, and checks what Marc is doing. He’s in the middle of it all and loving every second. He hasn’t missed her yet, so she takes the opportunity and makes her way over to the Majorcan.

“Alright. Why am I here talking to you rather than celebrating my incredible boyfriend’s record breaking win?”

“Do you want to do this here?” He looks over the crowd.

Dani checks too, out of habit, but she’s insistent. “I don’t want this hanging over my head. What do you need to tell me?”

Jorge takes her at her word, and clinks their drinks against each other. “Remember the last time we were drinking together?”

“It was only the worst night of my life,” she mutters. The shock is that she isn’t being over-dramatic. Marc is quickly becoming as big a part of her life as her racing has always been.

(Marc has possibly been as big a part of her life as racing for a while, now, but she is moving past regrets at missed opportunities.)

“Yeah. So.” He takes a deep breath. “I knew who you were talking about.”

Dani raises an eyebrow. “Because I told you.”

Jorge shakes his head sadly. “Because I already knew how Marc felt about you. The way you described it from the start, it wasn’t going to be anybody else.”

“What’s the problem here, Jorge?” Dani wants him to get to the point. “Everybody has already told me, at length I add, just how fucking obvious we were.”

Jorge glances to the ceiling, avoiding her intense stare. “Let’s rewind to- Mugello? Yeah, it was at Mugello. I come across a pair of brothers drinking in a bar. They’re talking about the ridiculously large crush one of them has on his team mate.”

Dani’s heart sinks. _Jorge, what did you do? What could make you feel this guilty?_

“And I make a few comments, because I think it’s all harmless fun, and I wanted to get even for Valencia last year. And my comments prod the older brother into acting faster than was perhaps best in this situation.”

He meets her eyes at last. “Didn’t you wonder, why now? Why did Marc make a point of forcing the issue instead of keeping the last year’s status quo?”

“But- it all worked out for the best… in the end…” Jorge can see the moment she gets it; her eyes light up with fury.

“Jorge, you _bastard_!”

-*-

Marc’s gaze slides to the side of the room for the third time in as many minutes. Alex elbows his brother in the side, dragging him back to present company.

“Looks like they’re having a serious conversation,” he whispers, hoping nobody else can hear them.

“They’re friends,” Marc tries to act unconcerned. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“That’s why you can’t take your eyes off them?” Alex sounds sceptical.

There’s that tinkling sound of broken glass, and Marc looks back to the older Spaniards just in time to see Dani slap Jorge across the face. Her drink is forgotten on the floor, bottle shattered.

The sound echoes in the suddenly quiet room.

“Why did you have to meddle? If we were so _fucking_ obvious like everyone keeps saying, why couldn’t you leave us to sort it out on our own time and not stick your nose in it?!”

Marc’s across the room in seconds, and he doesn’t care what it looks like to anyone else. Dani’s hardly being secretive, so she has no stones to throw at him.

He touches her shoulder and tries to turn her away, but she’s having none of it. Her eyes are locked on Jorge’s, waiting for his answer.

His voice is hoarse. “Because you were the one who couldn’t see what was so _fucking_ obvious, as you put it, and I was wrong when I thought that it was funny.”

Dani digests this slowly. She doesn’t hit him again, but she _really_ wants to. In earnest, not the joking punches they’ve traded countless times before. Her palm still tingles from the force of her first blow.

“It’s worse.” She’s quiet in her anger, but everyone can hear her, “It’s worse that you sat there and told me everything I needed to hear at the time- and the reason you knew what that was is because, indirectly, _you_ were the cause of it- and said nothing about this then.”

If Marc hadn’t forgiven her- if she had taken her parents’ advice, and left him to stew-

They wouldn’t be together, and the blame would lie with a mixture of Dani’s pride, and Jorge’s words.

Her still-stinging hand reaches out and squeezes Marc’s; there’s an audible ripple across the room, and she knows the secret is well and truly out of the bag.

So be it. Marc squeezes back, and that’s all she cares about.

“You bastard, Jorge,” she says.

“I know,” he agrees. “I didn’t say anything because you deserved this time to get angry with me, and you weren’t going to be doing that in Assen.”

“So thoughtful,” she mocks him. “Did you know how I felt at Mugello? Or did you just not care?”

“I didn’t know, then,” he replies, and Dani believes him. “I wondered at Catalunya, though.”

“If Marc couldn’t have forgiven me,” Dani says slowly, “I would have probably ignored everything you’ve just told me, and gone for flat-out murder.”

_That’s_ why Jorge felt so guilty. If he knew that Marc was breaking her down gradually, yet precipitated the hearts-breaking conversation, he _should_. The worst night of Dani’s life was indirectly Jorge’s fault.

He’d never driven her so crazy when they _didn’t_ like each other. Maybe that’s what made it worse.

“I’d be a hypocrite if I held this against you forever,” Dani admits, given her own actions and words that weekend, “But right now, I don’t want to talk to you.”

Jorge nods. “Alright, then.”

Acutely aware of every eye on them, Jorge leaves the party room. Dani feels the attention return to her and Marc, and smiles apologetically at him. “I suppose I never asked how you felt about going public?”

Marc wants to ask, _Why are you worrying about me now?_ because he is not the one who has just had a major argument with their (best?) friend. But this is what Dani does- she deflects her problems until she can handle them.

Settings and lap times come so easily to her; it is emotions she consistently fails at.

“Want to give them something to really talk about?” He musters up the best cocky smile he can manage in the circumstances, and sees gratitude on her face.

So he kisses her like Alex isn’t suddenly yelping and shielding his eyes mere feet away, like dozens of camera phones aren’t focussing in on them at that very moment, and when she sighs into his mouth and relaxes into his hold, he knows it was the right thing to do.

-*-                                                               

The fallout is of course, catastrophic.

The most outrageous stories are speculating a love triangle between them and Jorge, though the scandals can’t quite decide who’s cheated with who.

Honda are guarding their riders’ privacy as best they can. Considering the overwhelming photo evidence and numerous eye-witness accounts, this is mostly in vain, but entirely appreciated. Their team manager called them the very next morning for the entire story from the horse’s mouth (‘Is it true?’, ‘No, Livio, I haven’t been shagging a Yamaha rider for years behind your back.’, ‘Okay then, that’s the most worrying issue aside…’) and like the rest of the world, Dani begrudgingly notes, he isn’t overly shocked when told that yes, it is a serious relationship between her and Marc and not a joke to deflect attention.

Jorge has completely kept his silence over the whole thing, both in interviews and with them. He hasn’t contacted Dani at all.

She is both fuming and glad at this.

Marc doesn’t really get it, to be honest. They’re in Switzerland after the tests at Brno- not at Dani’s house, but in a random hotel where they aren’t immediately recognised and the press haven’t found them yet.

He doesn’t get _why_ Dani’s so angry, if it all worked out in the end. He wouldn’t go so far as to say the ends always justify the means, but, well-

“I would have been pining for _years_ if he hadn’t said anything.”

Dani’s back straightens against the desk chair. She’s checking her e-mails and dodging every form of contact her mother has attempted to make.

“I would have caught on eventually,” she says stiffly, and they’re both uncertain if that’s true.

Marc steps up behind her and starts rubbing her shoulders, trying to ease the tension in them. “But then all this time would have been wasted.”

“I hurt you-” Dani’s breath still catches on the words- “Because of what he pushed you to do. I hated myself for hurting you like that, and to find out that it could have all been avoided if he’d kept his bloody mouth shut-”

“I’m not hurting anymore,” Marc says, hands stilling, just keeping the point of contact between them. “It hurt that night, but not knowing how you felt all that time- that _ached_. It was like an old injury that never goes away, the one you still feel years later because it never healed properly. You know what I mean.”

Dani has _lots_ of experience with injuries; she knows exactly what he’s talking about. “So he did us a favour?” Her sarcasm drips onto the floor, it’s so heavy.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Marc half-smiles, lips quirking up on one side. “But I needed the nudge to do something drastic- something that would make you realise I’d caught your attention.”

And Dani lets it go. She leans back into his hands, and Marc bends down to hug her. “You’re right,” she grumbles. “And you’re far too good at calming me down.”

“I live to make you happy?” Marc speaks into her ear, tone intimate and utterly _innocent_.

Dani rests her head back on his shoulder. “You live to drive me insane,” she mutters in reply, and pulls his lips to hers.

She magnanimously ignores his laughing into the kiss.

-*-                               

A week later, all except the most die-hard rumourmongers have left the story behind due to lack of new material. Dani and Marc _are_ now at her house, and Marc smiles at the night-time view from the kitchen window. It’s where she must have stood to take the lightning photo for him.

Dani pokes her head into the room. “I’m going to bed.” She gives him the downright _filthiest_ come-hither look he’s ever seen outside of the trashy romance films Alex pretends not to love watching. “Care to join me?”

Dani is traditional. Despite sharing a hotel room for the past week, they have only slept together in the most literal sense. Marc hasn't pushed, and hasn't said anything about the fact that her hair had remained in its (looser, he admits) plait even while she slumbered, even though the curiosity was _killing_ him.

The look she's giving him now is promising everything he's ever dreamed of and more.

"I never did congratulate you after Germany," Dani adds, smirking.

Marc follows her from the room with unseemly haste.

-*-

"The hair thing," he says over breakfast the next morning.

Completely loose, it tumbles in sculpted waves to the curve of her waist, shorter sections framing her face.

Dani frowns behind her coffee. "What hair thing?" She pushes the weight of it back off her shoulders, idly wondering if she can be bothered to do anything with it today.

Marc is enraptured by the movement of those dark waves, and drags his concentration back. "That thing, right there. Why the plait?" _And why not today?_ Dani hears tagged on to the end of his question.

She shrugs and tucks one of the short bits behind her ear. "It's rather long; you may have noticed. The plait is the safest way to keep it back when riding."

"But for interviews? All last week?" Unable to help himself, Marc reaches over and snags a lock for himself. It's _so_ soft, well cared for, and he shivers at the sensation-memory of it dancing over his skin last night.

"It’s practical,” Dani points out. “I can barely get a brush through it when I leave it down all day.”

Marc blinks. “That’s it?” That’s _it_?

“That, and the look on your face when you pulled it free last night,” Dani honest to God _giggles_ when Marc pouts at her. “You think I didn’t notice?”

Marc’s hand is still tangled in the strands. “Going by your track record…” He lifts one shoulder.

“But I was actually looking, this time.”

Marc gasps like they haven’t spent the last week together. “Have you been _stalking_ me, Dani?”

She stares at him. “You want to go there,” she says levelly. “Mr your-bike-isn’t-identical-to-mine-but-nobody-else-has-noticed wants to go there?”

“That wasn’t stalking!” He protests.

“Mr I-rang-your-parents-to-ask-them-a-stupid-question.”

“That was a valid enquiry!”

“Mr completely-obsessed-with-my-hair.”

“Okay, can’t deny that,” seeing as he still hasn’t let go of the lock he’s playing with. He’s surprised she hasn’t batted him away yet, but she seems content to let him run his fingers through it-

-though if he starts petting it, petting _her_ , Things Will Be Said.

“Leave it down?” Marc widens his eyes and goes for irresistibly cute. “Let’s have a lazy day.”

Results are still pending on his attempt. Eventually, Dani breaks. “Fine. But you’re brushing it out tonight.”

“That _really_ isn’t a punishment.”

Dani smirks. “You’ve never brushed my hair.”

-*-

Their lazy day makes one thing apparent; Dani needs to talk to her parents. Well, her mother.

Her mother who is going to kill her. Dani doesn’t think her text containing a list of sportspapers and relevant page numbers cut it, as far as communication goes.

She makes the call in her study, not realising Marc has followed her in until she’s dialled. “Go sit down; I’ll be back in a minute.”

“I’m not going to miss this,” Marc hops onto the desk. “Put her on speaker.”

“Not on your life,” Dani mutters as the call connects. “Mum! Hi.”

“Daniela Pedrosa.”

“Look, it’s been a hectic week-”

“ _Daniela Pedrosa_.”

“I gave you the page numbers; you still found out from me!”

“ _Dani-”_

She cuts in, because if her mum says her name one more time, Dani is going to hang up and make things unaccountably worse. “Marc says hi.”

She holds out the phone to her boyfriend. Marc is grinning like a lunatic, but dutifully chirps, “Hi, Mrs Pedrosa!” into the mouthpiece. _Told you_ , he mouths to her afterwards.

“Marc! I thought I asked you to call me Basi.”

“Even now?”                         

“Especially now!”

Dani puts the phone back to her ear. “So can we try this again? Hi, mum.”

“So you’ve been hiding in Switzerland for a week, completely out of contact with the rest of the world, with your boyfriend?” Her mother actually sounds impressed. “I’m almost willing to forgive you.”

“How’s the reaction been in Sabadell?”

Her mother laughs. “Remember those boys you used to play with?” Those boys are also now in their late twenties, and Dani doesn’t even ask why her mother still refers to them as such. “One of them called you a Jezebel. The police didn’t press charges.”

“Police? For a bit of name calling?” She doesn’t let it sting; she’s grown a thicker skin in the last two weeks than she had in all her years racing.

“For what your father nearly did to him in return.”

Oh, _Hell_. “Is he alright?”

“He’s fine. Not even a black eye. I’ll let him know you were concerned. Pass me back to Marc?”

Dani does so, knowing that’s all her mother will say about it. As he chats, Marc’s voice remains cheerful but his face steadily loses all colour. By the time he says goodbye and ends the call, he’s ashen.

“Basi says take care, and goodbye,” he passes the phone back. “She also says she wants to see us before the second half of the season.”

Dani snorts. “You’ve already got their blessing. Why are you so worried?”

“It’s different in person, you know? She said she’d make up the sofa for me.”

“Mum isn’t that naïve. She probably wants to see what I’ll do.”

Marc cocks his head. “What _will_ you do?”

“Tell her we’ve shared a hotel room for a week, and see what she can say to that.”

Marc gains back a little of his colour. “That’s a clever implication.”

“Though my bed there’s only a single.”

“So, cuddles. No problem.”

Dani looks at him thoughtfully, “At least you don’t kick in your sleep.”

He nudges her with his foot. “I don’t snore, either. I’m fully house-trained!”

“The only thing in this house that requires training is the coffee machine. Everything else is fairly standard.”

“Yeah, about that-” Marc ducks his head and avoids her gaze.

Dani glares at him anyway. “Are you trying to say you broke my coffee machine?”

“Is that what the red flashing light means? I can’t get it to display anything else on the screen.”

“You broke my coffee machine?” Dani’s going to kill him. Love or coffee? MotoGP has a disgusting amount of early starts, so-

Marc starts shaking, and she realises the little shit is laughing. He risks a look up into her unimpressed face.

“Believe me, I haven’t touched your coffee machine,” he says between laughs. “It’s not worth my life, right?” There’s a hushed, _‘God, your face_ ’, as he breaks into another round.

“You may- do- threaten my championship chances,” Dani says shortly, “But _never_ threaten my coffee.”

“Not even a little?”

“Not a bit.”

“Duly noted.” He cups her cheek. “It was funny, though.”

“I thought I’d have to tell Livio you’d need a replacement rider for the rest of the season. It wasn’t funny.”

He traces the curve of her lips. “Then why are you smiling?”

Dani concedes that round rather gracelessly.


	10. 'This is a romance free-zone.'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And everything... falls into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter. There's just an epilogue to go. 
> 
> I wanted to end this on as light a tone as I started it, so-
> 
> Enjoi.

Dani lets them in without knocking; her mother’s expecting them at some point today.

“Daniela? _Marc_!”

Her mother is less excited to see her daughter than her daughter’s boyfriend.

…Then again, Dani has never brought anyone home before. Her mother may well have been planning this for _years_.

Dani still thinks she’s right; Marc has no reason to be worried. On the other hand, _she_ is _terrified_.

Eager to please, Marc holds out his hand to shake. Dani’s mother snorts, ignores this, and throws her arms around him.

“It’s so good to meet you at last!” She enthuses, stepping back to look at him. “How are you, Marc?”

“Good, Mrs- Basi,” Marc quails under the woman’s stare, and knows for certain where Dani got her repertoire from. “Very good.”

“Dani’s been treating you okay?”

Dani rolls her eyes, and pulls her mum over for her own hug. “Right here, mum,” she mutters as they embrace.

“But getting a straight answer from you is like pulling teeth-”

“Or getting blood from a stone?” Dani’s heard this countless times. “It’s good to see you, anyway.”

Basi’s face softens. “You, too.”

Marc suddenly starts coughing. Both women turn to him, and he shakes his head at the identical expressions of concern. “I never realised- her hair’s darker, but Dani looks a lot like you.”

Coming from anyone else, Basi would disdain the comment and mention how dull insincere flattery could be.

Coming from _Marc_ , the comparison makes her beam. “Thank you, Marc.” Then she looks at her daughter, and sighs. “Stop acting so horrified, Daniela. You’d be lucky to look like this when you’re my age.”

“You’ll kill me yourself before I get to that milestone,” Dani snipes.

Basi shrugs. “Probably, but at least you’ll leave a pretty body.” Opening shots fired, Basi moves on to practical concerns. “So, Daniela can show you where everything is. Dinner’s planned for six-thirty, after her father gets in. Did you want anything now, or just to rest from your trip?”

“Just rest?” Marc looks at Dani, who nods vigorously.

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” She smiles one last time, and bustles back out of the hallway.

“Is she normally like that?” Marc whispers. “I thought you were exaggerating.”

“No,” Dani says, adding fervently, “She’s _worse_.”

Marc makes a noise that best resembles a cat having its tail trodden on.

-*-

Throughout dinner, there is the standard small talk and skirmishes that almost fool Dani into relaxing. Marc, the poor sod, has succumbed to this false sense of security, and she pities him for the moment her mother will do something hideous.

As dessert is being served, she sees the older woman wink at her father.

Dani readies her guard.

“Marc.” Her father scrutinises the young man. “When we spoke on the phone, I gave you my blessing. There is, however, one thing I forgot to mention.”

Marc drops his spoon, and as he ducks to retrieve it, Dani mouths _what are you doing?_ over the table.

Her parents blithely ignore this.

“Sorry!” Marc reseats himself. “You were saying?”

“There will be absolutely no children until the two of you are married,” her father says sternly, “Or you will answer to me. Understood, young man?”

Marc is trying to decide if this is a joke, and looks to Dani for help. She thinks he needs a lesson about relaxing in this household, though, so casually adds fuel to the fire.

“I’ve already told you dad, I’m not having children until I retire.”

Marc goes _white_.

-*-

“You’ll get off lightly,” Marc whines as they leave a few days later. “My parents will never be that bad.”

“You survived,” Dani says as they wave out the window. “It’s quite the achievement, really.”

“So much for, _you’ll be fine, there’s no need to worry_.”

“I’m not sure _worry_ ever really came into it,” Dani says thoughtfully. “You mostly looked scared.”

“Can you _blame_ me?”

“No. I’m dreading meeting your mother,” she admits.

“She won’t be as bad as your dad!” Marc insists.

“I’m dating her twenty-one year old son,” Dani points out. “Want to bet?”

-*-

The summer break finishes before any plans can be made to visit Cervera, to Dani’s relief.

-*-

There’s one more thing to be sorted out before they go back. She texts Jorge the night before they leave for America.

_Marc’s a lost cause, so you’d better bring the competition at Indy, you bastard._

It’s not explicitly forgiveness, but he’ll know what she means.

She gets the reply when she wakes up the next morning, and grins.

 _Count on it, bitch_.

-*-

There is a new sign in the Repsol garage; Dani doesn’t know whether to thank her team, or fire them. It reads:

This is a romance-free zone. There will be no kissing, smooching, cuddling, canoodling, explicit acts to be walked in on, longing looks or dreamy sighs in the vicinity.

Failure to comply with these rules will result in merciless teasing.

Marc immediately has his phone out and tweets it; Dani whacks him upside the head and ignores her team’s laughter.

-*-                 

The next day, some enterprising soul has made an addition:

Amendment 1: Acts of violence hiding extreme fondness are strictly forbidden.

Try as she might, she cannot detach the sign from the wall. The bastards have put it above her reach.

Dani can take a hint.

-*-                                    

“Do you want to fit a tracker?” Dani asks wryly as Marc looks her up and down for the nth time.

“I’m just making sure you didn’t pretty yourself up too much to see another man.”

Dani raises an eyebrow. “Thin ice, Marquez.”

“You look gorgeous naturally, of course, but that’s something only I ever get to see.” Marc winks at her. “Smooth enough save?”

“ _Very_ thin ice.”           

“More pandering, then,” Marc throws his hands up like this is a chore. “Dani, when you look so beautiful naturally, any dressing up is a carefully chosen image, a facet of you. I don’t want to see your prettiest construction going to waste on a man who won’t properly appreciate it.” He pecks her on the cheek. “Better?”

Dani rolls her eyes. “Because Jorge can’t appreciate beauty?” She doesn’t think Marc is honestly jealous, but there’s an undercurrent of insecurity that needs lifting _now_.

“Because he knows you’ll kill him if he tried.”

Smiling, Dani yanks him in and presses a kiss to his lips that lasts longer than she intended. “You just won back major points, Marquez.”

Marc’s a bit dazed, but he rallies to the teasing. “I did?”

“You daft man, I don’t even have to train you. Why would I make an effort for anybody else?”

“Scoring some pretty big points yourself, Pedrosa.” Marc leans in again, but the glint in his eyes tells Dani she’ll be late (later) if she lets this go on any longer.

“Go have fun with Alex. I’m releasing you to his care tonight.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Marc mock salutes her.

Dani winks. “Not outside the bedroom, dear.”

Marc’s jaw drops as she walks away.

-*-

“You’re late. Did something keep you?” Jorge’s got a line of shots on the bar in front of him. Dani steals the closest one, downs it, and sets the glass back on the bar with a devilish grin.

“Up all night, as it happens.”

Jorge chokes as he takes his own shot.

“Sambuca?” Dani asks idly as he recovers.

“Sweet, and slightly sickening in large doses,” Jorge gasps out. “It seemed appropriate.”

“Huh.” Dani scrutinises the remaining glasses and has another. “I like it.”

“ _You_ would,” Jorge mutters.

-*-

“And- and she _winked_ , and I swear to God Alex, it was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen-”

“ _I don’t want to hear this_!” Alex shouts. “Damn it Marc, we’re meant to be playing fuβball. I’m thrashing you here!” Alex gestures at the little plastic counters keeping track of goals scored.

It’s seven-one. The previous games were ten-three, ten-two, and ten-five. Marc was talking about Dani the entire time.

Just to be contrary, Marc flicks the next ball in with a contemptuous wrist. “I’ve got to give you a chance.”

It is not possible for words to sound more condescending.

With that, Alex isn’t going to apologise for the next game he wins.

-*-

Amendment 2: Conversations about data are not to be used as euphemisms.

-*-

Amendment 2 (a): No conversations are to be used as euphemisms.

-*-

(The next addition is written in permanent marker. It looks suspiciously like Livio’s writing.

Amendment 2 (b): God damn it Marc, get your mind out of the gutter.)

-*-                                    

Amendment 3: If coffee is brought into the garage, there must be enough for everyone.

Amendment 3 (a): Just because Dani drinks enough for five people is no excuse not to share.

-*-            

It takes a while, but with the constant adding of amendments, the sign gains attention.

The day after Jorge notices it (and bursts out laughing in the pit lane), the sign is laminated for protection and moved _outside_ , stuck to the front door for the world to see.

Dani suspects a plot.

-*-

When Marc clinches the championship, his smile is the widest.

Dani’s, though- Dani’s is the _proudest_.

-*-

Their next night in Geneva, with Marc freshly crowned, he enters the bedroom to find Dani wearing nothing but a shirt with the number 93- _his_ 93- stencilled onto it.

Marc hasn’t even _dreamed_ of this.

“I’ve got a lot of congratulating to get through,” Dani smirks. “Close the door?”

Dreams have absolutely _nothing_ on reality.

-*-

Amendment 4: The area previously defined as 'the vicinity' includes any occasion either rider is wearing team-emblazoned clothing.

Amendment 4 (a): We don't care if it was the only clean thing in the wardrobe; do not enter the garage wearing one of Dani's hoodies again. 

-*-                                    

Marc turns up to the next press conference wearing a number 26 cap.

-*-                                    

Amendment 4 (b): Damn it Dani, keep track of your clothing.

(Marc makes his only addition to the rules, then.

Amendment 4 (c): Only when by doing so, you are not infringing on the rights of one Marc Marquez, Esq.

He think's he's being awfully clever.)

-*-

He's wrong.

-*-                                                          

Amendment 5: The aforementioned rights of one Marc Marquez, Esq., are naturally subject to the whims of one Daniela Pedrosa, Miss.

Amendment 5 (a): Yes, you are on the couch tonight, dear.

-*-

Amendment 6: Those affected by the rules of this document are no longer allowed to make them. (…you do realise the world can read this?)

-*-

In the spirit of the latest addition, Dani slaps a post-it note to the bottom of the laminate.

Recommendation 1: They who make the rules are not allowed to whine about where _they_ choose to display them.

-*-

The sign is moved back into the garage. Dani reckons she won that round, all in all.

-*-

“It’s a bit unfair that I have to drag you kicking and screaming down to Cervera with me, when I was happy to go to Sabadell.”

“Life’s not fair.”

Dani isn’t looking forward to this. She doesn’t _do_ charming, or whatever it is that’s required to make her seven-years younger boyfriend’s parents like her.

(It might also be the first time anyone’s brought _her_ home. A little nervousness is warranted.

Okay, a _lot_.)

Alex is laughing his head off in the backseat. She tried to interrogate him about what to expect, but he’s not scared of her anymore.

In hindsight, _big_ mistake.

-*-

When the big moment arrives, Dani just tries to smile.

“So we finally get to meet the infamous Daniela Pedrosa,” Roser Marquez is smiling too. That’s a good sign, right?

“It’s,” Dani flounders, “good to meet you?”

“I bet,” Marc’s mother says drily. “Julia and I have something for you, actually.” The woman reaches over to the sideboard, where there are a variety of pictures. The one she selects is unframed; her words confirm it’s not part of the collection. “We dug it out especially when we knew you were coming.”

Interested, Dani takes the picture. It’s a bedroom. It’s remarkably tidy, considering it belongs to a teenager.

Fourteen-years old Marc is clearly the focus of the shot, but the backing walls are clear, too.

There’s a poster. Dani recognises that poster.

She turns to Marc in disbelief. “You had a poster of my 250cc World Championship on your bedroom wall?”

“What?” Marc lunges for the picture. “Mum, we said-”

“We said there would be no baby pictures,” Roser smiles sanguinely. “Nothing was mentioned on the subject of teenage years.”

“It was implied!”

“So you see,” Roser turns back to Dani, expression more serious. “We _were_ a bit concerned you were just playing with him, when we first heard.”

“I wouldn’t do that.” Dani can do honesty. If honesty is what’s required, she might have a shot here after all.

“Hm. I’ll hold you to that.” The moment must be over, because the woman smirks. “There’s another picture we wanted you to see.”

Dani is _very_ interested. She could actually end up having fun on this visit, it seems.

-*-

“Never again. We’re never visiting either of our parents _ever again_.”

Dani grins. “You wouldn’t do that to your mother, would you? She’s such a lovely woman.”

-*-

The final amendment isn’t really even a rule, but the guys all thought it had its place there. It’s added roughly a year after the original document was created.

Amedment 7: Congratulations, Mrs Marquez-to-be. You’re stuck with him.

Amendment 7 (b): We know you’ve only wanted this for _years_ , but God have mercy on your soul, Marc.

-*-

Dani tried, she _really_ tried, but everyone insists there must be a formal announcement. Marc’s even wearing his own clothes. It’s serious, this press conference.

Her engagement ring glints when it catches the lights.

“Ready for this?” Marc asks, taking her hand.

It can’t be worse than his proposal. And she knows exactly what to say, for once.

She smiles. “Always.”

 


	11. 'Marry me?'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The proposal, and the wedding :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This proposal scene has been in my head since pretty much the start of this fic. 
> 
> Last chapter and epilogue: Enjoi!

“I’m going to do it,” Marc says as his brother sets out the beers. “I’m going to ask.”

“Ask me what?” Alex wonders why his brother wanted to talk with him tonight.

Marc goes slightly green. “God, not you! Dani!”

“What are you going to ask-” Alex gets it in an instant. “Holy shit, are you sure?”

Marc pulls out a little box from his pocket. “Got it this afternoon,” he explains nervously. “What do you think?”

Alex takes the box, and examines its contents. “It’s lovely, Marc. She’ll love it. When are you going to ask her?”

Marc swallows. “For that, I need to talk to a few people…”

Alex has the strangest feeling of déjà vu.

-*-

“I don’t get it!” Dani moans over their take-out. “Everything- it’s great. Brilliant. I love him. And he’s _keeping_ something from me!”

“You can’t think there’s someone else, surely?” Jorge _seriously_ doubts this is the case. It’s more likely Dani’s got her knickers in a twist over nothing. “Marc’s inescapably, hilariously, unforgettably _head-over-heels_ for you, woman.”

“I’ll kill anyone he cheats on me with,” Dani says harshly.

“Not him?” He has to ask.        

Dani shakes her head. “Fucking love,” is her short explanation.

Jorge knows Dani has no immediate plans to go to gaol, so that isn’t it. “Did you ever think it might be something good? Isn’t it almost a year now, the two of you? Maybe he wants to surprise you for your anniversary.”

“Maybe,” Dani says this dubiously. “It’s sometime around now. I’ve never been too good with dates.”

“You don’t know your own anniversary?” Somewhere deep down, Jorge isn’t surprised.

“It’s not like we’re married! I’d remember that!”

Jorge has a moment of omniscience, and chokes on his noodles.

That kid is _brave_.                                                                 

“Why don’t you just ask him?” He deflects her concern. “See what he says, then worry if you don’t like his answer.”

He is _dying_ from laughter on the inside.

-*-                                               

They’re back at Brno for more summer testing. Marc is still being a twat.

The exact dates fail her, but she’s been with him a year now. This is getting ridiculous. She sneaks up on him when he’s talking to another man in the garage.

“What are you failing to keep secret from me?”

Marc jumps about a foot in the air, shoos away _her_ mechanic, and spins around looking guilty. “Nothing?” He tries.

Dani arches an eyebrow.

“Nothing _bad,_ ” Marc amends. “You’ll like it… I hope.”

“So it _is_ to do with me?”

Marc actually waggles his index finger at her. “You won’t trick any more details from me! I’ll- tell you soon, I promise.”

That sounded like a pause, and a hasty substitution of words. “Tell me what?”

“Wait and see!”

Dani runs out of time to ask him anything else as he hurries away to get started with testing.

-*-                                    

Dani’s the only one out on track for the moment- the team put out Marc first, then her, so they could both have a clean run.

It’s easy to get her head in the zone- she dials down through the gears coming into turn 14, switches over to the right and smoothly accelerates out of 15 onto the start-finish straight.

She checks her pit board for instructions-

- _Holy shit_ -                     

Dani hits the brakes and comes to a skid-stop, bike sideways on the track.

“What?” she whispers.

Marc’s the one holding out her pit board. She’s guessing the choice of message is his, too.

_Marry me?_

_“What?”_ She pulls off her helmet, and doesn’t even notice how her team swarm around and gently guide her off the bike, wheeling it away.

Marc drops the board and jumps down from pit wall. His gait over to her is carefully measured, but she can see his fist clenched around something in his hand.

_This isn’t a joke. He’s actually-_

Then he reaches her; he _kneels down in front of her_ , and takes her left hand in his free one. “So, I didn’t mean to nearly make you crash,” he fumbles open the little jewellery box and shows the contents to her, “But, yeah. Marry me?”

The ring is plain gold- three strands of it plaited seamlessly into a band. It’s stunning in its simplicity.

Dani’s thoughts can’t catch up, and Marc is looking less happy every second she takes to answer.

He sighs, and presses her hand to his forehead. “Too soon?” he asks sadly.

The word finally fights its way free: “Yes!”

Marc winces. “You didn’t have to be so enthusiastic.”

“No! Yes!” Dani _knows_ she isn’t making sense, but this is what Marc does to her. She tugs her hand free; Marc’s expression is thoroughly _miserable_ until he sees her tugging the glove off.

“Oh! Yes?” His face lights up, eyes wide and joyful, smile outshining the sun.

“Yes!” They can’t seem to say anything else to each other.         

Reverently, he takes out the ring and slides it onto her finger. It’s a perfect fit.

“You stalker,” Dani sighs happily. She doesn’t wear rings; he must have measured her finger when she was out of it.

“You like it?” Marc doesn’t deny the accusation.

“I love it.” She pulls him up so they’re face to face. “I love you.”

They’re _engaged_.                   

He links their hands together, fingers caressing her ring. “I love you, too.”

She leans in to kiss him, and gets a face full of champagne.

“Congratulations!”

The team are back, brandishing bottles of bubbly and grinning ear to ear. It’s Livio who steps forward and pins one of those little fake veils into her hair.

“That’s not going to fit under my helmet,” Dani warns him, but she’s so stupidly _happy_ the words come out with a mortifying giggle.

“Today, you’re reprieved,” he smiles at them both. “Get changed, and go celebrate.”

Dani is still in her leathers. Marc _proposed_ to her on the start-finish straight of one of her favourite tracks, in the middle of a testing session.

It’s _perfect_.    

Except for one thing-

“When my mother asks, you did this in the middle of a candlelit dinner in a nice restaurant. There were waiters playing violins and roses everywhere,” she laughs as she pulls him through the champagne shower, back into the garage.

“I already told her,” Marc gasps as she pushes him into the wall and breaks rule one on the sign above their heads by kissing him.

She pulls back, utterly radiant. “Thank God, now I don’t have to.”

“She- might want to- hear- your answer,” Marc snatches kisses between words, not even sure what he’s saying anymore.

“She’ll know what I said,” Dani mutters into his neck, nipping at his pulse. “She always knows.”

“You said _yes_ ,” Marc whispers. “For a moment, I thought you were going to break my heart again.”

Dani pulls him impossibly _closer_. “Never again.”

“No?”              

Dani cups his cheek with her left hand. The gold is warmed by her skin, smooth against his cheek. “No.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Marc says softly.

“I’m holding on right back,” she promises him in return.

-*-

She makes Marc wait to tell the world on twitter until she’s contacted three people.

_Sorry, Dad. Mum’s going to be over the moon tonight._

_Congratulations are in order, then? You aren’t pregnant, are you?_

_No!_ She smiles at her dad’s reply. _But I love him, and God help me, I want to marry him._

_Basi’s going to shriek. Thanks for the warning. Congratulations again, Dani._

_Thanks, Dad._

One down, two to go.

She dials the number. It picks up on the first ring.

“Mum-”

“Oh my God, you’re doing this properly! You said yes, didn’t you?!”

Dani shakes her head, amused. “You yell at me when I don’t talk to you, and already know what I’ll say when I do.”

“Daniela- Dani-”                                                                   

She raises her eyebrows. She can count on one hand the times her mother’s used the abbreviation of her name.

“Congratulations. And thank you for telling me.”

Dani swallows past the sudden lump in her throat. “You’re my mother. This is one of the things you’re meant to be involved in.”

“You’re going to look so _pretty_ in a wedding dress, I know it!”

“Yeah, well. I take after you, don’t I? I’m going to need your help with this.”

“I’ll be here whenever you need me. I’m so happy for you!”

“Me, too.” She looks at Marc, who is shamelessly listening in on their conversation. “He makes me happy.”

Her mother squeals. “Do you like your ring?”

“I love it. I’ll send you a picture.”

“I can’t believe you finally found somebody to put up with you!”

_And_ they’re back on familiar territory. But Dani’s in a good enough mood to give her mum a warning this time at least.

“Hanging up now. Talk to you soon!”

“Daniela-”      

She presses disconnect.

Marc grins. “Is that some kind of code between you?”

Dani shrugs. “She’d think I was sick, or replaced by some sort of alien, if I said goodbye.”

“Huh. And this is the family I’m marrying into?”

“Oi. No regrets, now. I’m stuck with you. And I get Alex. It’s even.” Something occurs to her. “Aren’t you going to ring your parents?”

“I texted Alex. They’ll know by now.” As if on cue, his phone starts ringing. He checks the caller ID, and confirms it. “That would be mum.”

By the end of the call, Marc is blushing, Dani has a stitch from laughing so much, and Roser Marquez has agreed to tell Dani the rest of the terrifying childhood stories she’s going to need for married blackmail in person, the next time she visits.

The third contact is much simpler.

_I’ll make sure the bridesmaid dress suits you. Knee length, classy, not too low cut._

_…Pardon?_

She can’t imagine the look on Jorge’s face right now. _You’ll be my maid of honour, right?_

_Holy shit. He actually did it._

Dani snorts as she replies. _You bastard, you knew? (Why am I surprised?) But yeah, that was my immediate reaction._

_Well done for not running away._

Dani changes her mind. _Actually, I was thinking something in a nice shade of pink. It’ll really set off the bruises you’ll have if you don’t shut up anytime soon._

_You wouldn’t._

_Wouldn’t I?_

_…Congratulations, Dani. Seriously._

_That’s what I thought. And thanks._

-*-

The press conference is a mixture of heaven, and hell. She’s been smiling for so long her cheeks are starting to hurt, and _some of the questions._ She’s relieved when their PR agent calls an end, asking for the final one.

“Have you thought about how keep confusion at a minimum in a garage with two riders named ‘Marquez’?” Is the last question, and Dani can’t keep her face blank to hide how ridiculous she thinks it is. She isn’t changing her name. Do foreign reporters do the slightest bit of research on their stories, or assume everybody else adheres to their conventions?

So she turns to Marc, bats her eyelashes and positively _simpers_ , “You mean, you aren’t taking _my_ name, dear? _Marc Marquez i Alenta de Pedrosa_ has such a ring to it, right?”

Marc justifies her reasons for loving him when he gamely puts a hand on his heart, and bemoans his lot in life. “But then the world will see me emasculated! _Everyone_ will know how tightly you have me wrapped around your little finger!”

Wisely, the PR agent steps in at this point and calls an absolute halt to proceedings.

Dani stands up, holds up her hand, and beckons to Marc with her little finger. He grins broadly as he follows her out.

Of course, _that_ is the picture that makes the headlines the next day.

-*-

_BDSM Marriage_ _on the horizon for Marquez and Pedrosa?_

Thankfully, this is not a headline, but a text.

_Don’t worry, there’ll be a pretty little domme there to take care of you._

_But if I have eyes solely for the bride?_

Marc steals her phone then, and taps out his own response.

_I’ll let her deal with you her own way._

Jorge catches on to the change in sender quickly.

_You make a compelling argument, Marquez de Pedrosa_.

-*-

Dani’s amazed that she and her mother have only had one fight so far during the preparations, all because Dani wanted orange roses while her mother insisted that red was more traditional.

(‘But orange _is_ traditional for me! And it’s my wedding!’

‘You aren’t there to be a motorcyclist; you’re there to be a _bride_!’)

They compromise; the bouquets are a lovely smattering of sunset colours- reds, oranges, purples and blues.

-*-

It’s startling how little they fight over the choice of dress. They aren’t even, strictly speaking, dress shopping on the day Dani spots it in the window of a bridal shop.

One enquiry as to whether the boutique caters to ‘petite’ figures (Dani hates the word, but her mother has told her at great length that wedding dresses do not come in ‘short-arse’ sizes), one affirmative, and one preliminary fitting later, Dani walks away a considerable sum of money shorter, but with a booking card for a proper session in her jeans pocket.

(She’s laying off blueberry muffins for the foreseeable future. Dani refuses to be one of those brides who have to diet down between buying their wedding dress, and wearing it.

Her mother, for once, completely agrees.)

-*-

_I’m getting slightly worried. You aren’t actually putting me in a dress, right?_

_But Jorge, you’d look so pretty!_

_Promised to another man, and_ now _she flirts with me._

Dani sends him the address for the shop her father’s buying his tux from. She’s not _that_ cruel.

-*-

“This is going to be so _weird_. I can’t remember the last night I didn’t sleep with you.”

In the background, Julia Marquez has a sudden coughing fit.

Dani didn’t notice the little things, the ones that added up to Marc moving himself into her Geneva home. His toothbrush is by the sink, his preferred brand of beer is in the fridge and her Tivo box is full of his favourite programmes. Their wardrobes are only distinguishable by what number is written on the clothes. Dani can be hunting for a pair of her jeans for up to ten minutes, some mornings.

So he’s right; it _is_ weird, knowing that she’s leaving him here in Cervera, only to make the hour-long trip to Sabadell to sleep alone in her parent’s house.

“It’s only for one night,” she says. “I’m traditional, remember? The next time you see me will be at the wedding.”

“Yeah,” Marc says, mind _gone_. Dani takes it as a compliment she hopes she can live up to.

“Night, then,” she says, hugging him, mindful of her nearly-father-in-law’s presence.

As evidenced by his earlier comment, Marc has no such concerns, and kisses her as thoroughly as he feels necessary to get through the night without her.

-*-

Marc turns to his brother, his best man. “Tell me you’ve got a hip flask.”

Alex eyes him worriedly. “Are you joking? Dani would _kill_ me, then resurrect me for the pleasure of killing me _again_.”

“She’s late.”

“Brides normally are.”

“Dani normally isn’t. It’s two o’clock gone, she can’t even have overslept!”

“You think her mother would let her oversleep on her wedding day?”

“Oh God, what if Basi’s killed _her_?”

Alex finds it hilarious that death-via-Pedrosa is a (female only) family trend. But then the wedding march begins, and his attention is entirely taken up by the struggle not to laugh at the _awe_ on his brother’s face.

-*-

“I’m blaming you if Marc think’s I’ve bailed,” Dani mutters to Jorge as she steps out of the wedding car.

“It wasn’t _my_ hair that took an hour to style!”

“There’s nothing to be done to save it, that’s why,” she replies.

“Here.” A small bottle is thrust under her nose. “For the nerves.”

Dani eyes it for a long moment. “I told Marc I’d kill him if he needed alcohol to get to the altar,” she says. Then she shrugs, and (carefully, so as not to dislodge her hair) knocks it back.

It’s _water_.

“And _now_ , Marc has a little bit of blackmail back on you,” Jorge grins at her growl.

Before she can kill him and ruin her dress (she’d be more upset about the second, at this point), her dad is coming out of the church doors, and holding out his arm to escort him inside.

“You look good, Pedrosa,” Jorge whispers as he takes his place at the front of the line. “Marc’s a lucky man.”

“Stop flirting; I’m about to be married,” she whispers back. “Oh _God_.”

She really wishes that bottle had contained vodka.

-*-

Jorge winks at Alex as he steps up on the bride’s side of the dais. Alex hopes this is a good sign, and Marc-

Marc doesn’t notice, because Dani is now starting her walk down the aisle. And she’s _beautiful_.

Her dress is old-fashioned- long lace sleeves and a floor length skirt. One side of it is embellished with subtle embroidery. It pulls in at her tiny, _tiny_ waist, and flares slightly over her hips.

She’s _beautiful_ , and Marc’s mind is stuck on one single track.

_And she’s completely mine._

_Just like I’m completely, utterly hers._

-*-

He gets through his vows without a single stumble. He’s never meant any words so much in his _life_.

“I’ve always felt something for you,” he finishes them with a grin, “And now you’ve realised it: I will _always_ love you.”

Her wedding ring matches the engagement band; when he puts it on her finger, they look like one whole, unbroken weave of gold.

-*-

Dani’s vows are slightly blunter.

“You’re a cocky, stubborn, persistent, bull-headed-” even the priest is looking worried by this point- “ _brilliant_ , wonderful person, and I thank God every time I remember how you got me a clue.” She takes his hand and kisses it-

( _that_ wasn’t in the rehearsal)

-and has to smile at the mixture of laughter and _joy_ she’s put on his face. “And I know you’ll _always_ be there to remind me of it, because I’m not letting you go.”

His ring is similar to hers; a braid of metals flawlessly finished. Dani insisted there be a strand of silver between the two gold, to represent all of the grey hairs she’ll be getting years before him.

Seven and a half years, to be exact.

Their first married kiss is everything Dani religiously denies dreaming it would be as a little girl; sweet, chaste (until Marc’s hand ruffles up her hair and ever so gently _pulls_ )-

-and completely, utterly, _perfect._

-*-

Marc can only stand by in wonder as his _wife_ reveals that the subtle embroidery on her wedding skirt cleverly conceals a line of small buttons, enough of them that she can securely hitch the fabric up, and relegate him to the back seat on their ‘just married’ motorbike.

His wife, honestly.

Honestly. _Daniela Pedrosa Ramal de Marquez_ , his _wife._

He wouldn’t change her for the world.

-*-

( _Three years on (epilogue)_ )

At the start of winter testing, Dani storms into the garage with a face like thunder.

Marc is confused, because he cannot think of what he's done recently to make her this angry.

“I got my test results back.” She bites out. “So I’m retiring from racing, effective _now_.”

Dani’s been feeling strange recently, on and off. Sometimes she’s the sweetest person alive, and other times, he has his actual wife back.

She’s also started feeling queasy at mealtimes. It’s been going on for a couple of weeks, so Marc insisted she saw a doctor after the last race at Valencia.

Marc leaps to his feet. “What?! Are you ill, is it serious-”

She thrusts a sheet of paper under his nose. “Congratulations, you bastard. You’ve finally managed to destroy my career.”

“What? How is this _my_ fault-” Marc shuts up abruptly. His eyes go wide. “Oh,” he manages, after a false start.

Dani lets the smile she’s been biting back finally roam free. “Yup. You’ve got seven more months of me alternatively cuddling you closer, and shoving you away.”

“I’m going to be a dad!” He picks her up and spins them both around. “You’re going to be a mum! Our kid is going to be the _best_ racer who ever lived!”

“Is that really the point?” Dani says through laughter.

(She’s not bitter about the sudden changes in her life. The last time her mother had pointedly mentioned a lack of grandchildren to spoil, Dani hadn’t snapped back, but _considered_ the words, instead.

Besides, just because she’s stopping racing, doesn’t mean she’s stepping away from the world. Maria’s coming into her own in Moto2, with Honda, and even Dani can spot a potential advisory role when it’s that blatantly perfect for her.)

“You’re pregnant.” Marc looks at her like she’s a previously undiscovered wonder of the world.

“I’m pregnant,” Dani confirms, enjoying the expression on his face.

“You’re brilliant.” Marc kisses the smile from her lips. Every time they kiss, it feels like something new between them.

Dani bites her lip when they pull back to breathe. “Can we keep it in the family for now? I need to talk to Livio and my lawyers about retiring, and settle that before it becomes Big Racing News.”

Marc nods earnestly. “Of course!”

-*-                                

The biggest and most controversial story from the winter testing season is that Daniela Pedrosa de Marquez has retired from MotoGP, breaking her contract with Honda in what is described as an amicable split, for personal reasons.

Speculation is rampant.

-*-

Marc puts an end to the rumours at Qatar, with Dani’s begrudging permission. She’s six months along, her condition is fairly obvious, and if she wants to see Marc for any of the first half of the season, people are going to notice, and join up the dots.

He beams through the press conference.

“And it’s not only this opening win that’s got me so happy. I’m _finally_ allowed to confirm the reason Dani retired over the winter- in three months, we’re going to have a baby girl! I’m going to be a father!”

The room _explodes._

-*-

The rules come out one final time that year; printed and framed, a congratulatory gift for the two of them.

There is a post-it note, the same colour as Dani’s all those years ago, stuck to the glass.

Recommendation 2: Any child bearing the surnames _Marquez i Pedrosa_ is contracted to HRC prenatally, effective now, expiring on retirement.

Dani grins.

“She’ll be the first girl to win the MotoGP crown,” Marc croons to her stomach.

That was Dani’s dream, a long time ago now.

If her daughter is anything like herself, shares any of the same interests and aspirations, Dani’s going to make sure that dream is realised.

Though if their daughter is _anything_ like her father, Dani thinks with extreme fondness and prejudice, she’s going to do most of it herself, and drag everyone else along for the ride.

"I love you," she says suddenly. She sometimes feels she doesn't say it enough.

Marc looks up from her stomach with a smile. "I love you too, Dani. Always."

Her ring finger tingles with the tangible proof of that promise. To think there was a time she never wanted to hear _that word_ again.

"Always," she agrees, running her hand through his hair. "I'll hold you to that."

Marc arches into her caress, completely content with his current lot in life. "You'd better," he says, completely secure in his belief that she will.

She laughs, because she knows exactly what he's thinking. As the years add up, he only becomes more obvious to her.

Considering he was transparent from the start, reading him now is like reading something written on the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe this ended up longer than 'all I wanted to hear'. 
> 
> Er, so, there might be a couple of scenes with baby that I didn't want to put in this; I didn't think they fit in particularly well. There's also a couple of mentioned stories in the fic itself that aren't elaborated on, that I want to write (I'm finding it kinda difficult to let go of Daniela as a character :-$) so... watch this space? I might add a series link for a second story with a few one shot scenes from this continuity?
> 
> Thank you for reading, for comments and for kudoses; they make it a hell of a lot easier to keep writing!


End file.
